


Rodeo Dreams

by L_Greene



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, magazine, rodeo, the OFC is June, ummmm, who is Lucifer's daughter, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 06:50:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2722781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_Greene/pseuds/L_Greene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU! Balthazar Roché and Castiel Collins are sent by their magazine to cover the Cohens, a multi-generational rodeo dynasty. There they meet Chuck and his sons Michael and Nick, but their trip to Tulsa may just result in more than they bargained for. Character death at the end. M for language and sexual content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Finally. The actual fic to "A Different Kind of Rodeo."

If there was one thing Balthazar hated before anything else, it was the desert. It was hot, it was dusty, and there were a terrifyingly high number of ways to die very quickly out there. There also tended to be few large cities, and the ones that existed were far apart. He was a quintessential city boy who loved the beat of urban life. And sure, Los Angeles was hot and close to the desert, but at least he wasn't surrounded by cacti and cattle every hour of every day. So it naturally followed that he hated essentially everything to do with the desert, including cowboys, every state from North Dakota to Texas, and rodeos. Especially rodeos.

"Roché, I'm going to need you in Tulsa for awhile," Fergus Crowley said calmly, practically _smugly_ , from behind his heavy oak desk. Balthazar stood in front of him with a dumbfounded look on his face.

The look hadn't been there a few seconds before. He was completely used to getting called into Crowley's office for assignments, after all. But his editor knew his distaste for the desert, and Tulsa was right in the middle of it. "For _what_?" Balthazar demanded.

"There's this family, the Cohens. Rodeo family—"

"Bloody hell, Crowley, no bloody rodeos!"

"What?" Crowley asked innocently. "You're a sports writer. The board wants to see a series on this sport and this family."

"A bloody _series_?" Balthazar asked, his voice raising an octave. As if writing one article wasn't bad enough—multiple articles required a certain amount of cohesion and far more effort than he wanted to expend, especially on _this_ particular project.

"I expect three articles from you. Collins is going with you to photograph. You leave this afternoon, so pack up. I'll email you your flight information in an hour. Any questions?"

"Yeah—why _me_?" Balthazar snapped. "You know I hate rodeos! I bloody _loathe_ the desert!"

Crowley smirked. "You're the best sports writer I have. Besides, Zachariah Fuller requested you by name for this project. It's only a good thing—he's saying you have the potential to take on greater responsibility. Based on how well you do, he might even promote you."

Balthazar's jaw clenched. He'd been trying to get promoted for awhile, and to have the prospect of writing three articles about something he absolutely hated with a possible promotion as leverage was infuriating. What was even worse was that he'd do it, too. He really wanted that promotion.

At least he'd worked with Collins before. That was one aspect of this whole situation that wasn't completely shitty. He wasn't a half-bad guy—sensible, logical, controlled, talented, and so utterly hot that it was a wonder he didn't realize it. "Does Cas already know about this?"

"Told him about an hour ago. He took the morning to pack—as should you. Expect to be there for three months, at least. You'll be following the Cohens to a few competitions, going to Dallas with them, things like that. And I hear the desert is hot." Crowley aimed a meaningful glance at Balthazar's favored black velvet jacket. "I'd rethink the heavy wear if I were you."

"Fine," he spat. He turned and stormed out of the office as Crowley called after him with the cryptic, "Just the twins!" Whatever _that_ meant.

He hoped the Cohens were obnoxious, because he already hated _them_ , too.

* * *

Bela was still asleep when he got back home to his tiny but well-furnished apartment. She was sprawled out on the middle of the California king, tangled in the sheets, as he threw open the bedroom door, but her eyes fluttered open at the bang.

"Taz?" she murmured, sitting up. "Isn't it a touch early for you to be home?"

"Yes, and you can thank my bloody editor for that. I'm being sent on assignment," he practically growled as he located a suitcase and began throwing clothes into it haphazardly.

"Sounds dreadfully exciting." She flopped back on the sheets and closed her eyes.

"To bloody Oklahoma," Balthazar added. He lobbed a pair of socks into the suitcase.

"What is an Oklahoma?" Bela asked with a laugh. "I'm familiar with the musical, but I'm afraid I haven't the faintest what it is."

"It's a state. South of Kansas, north of Texas—"

"Texas? Oh, bloody hell. Whatever for?" Now her voice held the appropriate note of sympathy and indignation.

"Zachariah Fuller requested a certain senior sports writer to cover a rodeo family. He wants three articles about them, and I'll be gone for three months, at least."

"Excruciating." She heaved a dramatic sigh. "Don't forget to bring condoms with you—I don't want you coming home with some disease."

"Trust me, the only illness I'll be in danger of contracting is mad bloody cow disease."

Bela laughed again, but made no further response. She flung her arm over her eyes and let him bustle around the room, gathering up a pair of jeans here, a shirt there.

Once he was finally packed, he settled on the edge of the bed and stared at his suitcase. He couldn't believe this was happening to him. It wasn't fair—he didn't want to leave his home and Bela for an assignment he had no passion for. Why couldn't it have been baseball in New York, or American football in New England or something? He would have even taken basketball in Florida. But no, he was stuck doing _rodeo_ in _Oklahoma_.

"I know this isn't your idea of a great assignment, but it's only for a few months," Bela murmured. He felt the bed shifting behind him, and a moment later, she was pressed up against his back, wrapping her arms around his stomach. She kissed a spot just to the left of his Atlas vertebra and added, "Besides, it was Fuller who asked for you, right?"

"Right," he said. He slid his hands up her arms and sighed softly. He wouldn't admit it out loud—mostly because she would laugh at him if he did—but he would miss her a lot while he was gone. Their relationship was simple and uncomplicated. They were close friends who lived together and frequently had mind-blowing sex. Neither of them had any interest in the other in a romantic capacity, but their sexual chemistry was undeniable. It was a rare relationship that worked remarkably well.

"So that probably means you'll be considered for some sort of promotion, right?"

"Right." She'd worked at his magazine but quit a few months ago after receiving a better offer, so she knew about the politics of journalism.

"So what you do is..." She kissed the back of his neck, running her fingers through his blond curls. "...work terribly hard on this project..." She kissed higher up, at the back of his head. "...bitch and moan to Crowley whenever possible..." She kissed his ear and leaned in close, dropping her voice to a whisper. "...and when you come back, you'll have a nice fat pay bump to look forward to."

Balthazar scoffed. "Let's hope it's that easy."

* * *

"Just breathe, okay?" Chuck coached, one hand on Michael's shoulder and the other on Lucifer's. "You're tense—you both are. An' that's understandable," he added, looking from one of his sons to the other. "You haven't done this before. Not like this, anyway." He gave both their shoulders a reassuring squeeze before dropping his hands and stepping back, and Michael and Lucifer exchanged glances.

Michael's lips quirked up in a smile. "Ready, little brother?"

Lucifer flashed a returning smirk. "More ready than you, big brother."

"Wanna bet?"

"Ten bucks says I make it an' you don't."

"Oh, you're _on_!" Michael laughed, grabbing his brother's hand and shaking it.

Chuck just smiled and shook his head as his sons hopped over the fence into the enclosure. They were good boys, his sons. They fought just like any siblings, but never for very long—they were twins, and they'd been together for their entire lives. There was hardly anything they hadn't done together from the very beginning, and their rodeo careers were no exception. It ran in the family, starting with Chuck.

He'd started young, at fourteen, and he'd started winning competitions soon after. When he was twenty-three, he'd gotten married, and two years later, his sons were born. Even then, it wasn't until he was twenty-seven and his wife Hester died that he gave up the rodeo life to properly raise his children, but by then, both of the twins had started riding horses in an effort to be "like Daddy." So, seeing potential in both of them (even at two and a half years old, they had amazing coordination), he began training them to follow in his footsteps to rodeo immortality.

Twenty-six years later, they were well on their way to achieving it. Despite the various setbacks that dogged both of his sons, they'd managed to claim prizes in several rodeo events. But their favorite, and the one they were most well-known for, was bull-riding. They rode simultaneously whenever possible, or one right after the other when it wasn't. Michael usually rode first, although sometimes Lucifer (who registered under the name Nick, since he didn't think "Lucifer" would go over too well with the overwhelmingly conservative crowds) would volunteer to go first if Michael had a bad feeling about the ride. His bad feelings were typically well-founded, and it was only through sheer luck that Lucifer was able to hang on as well as he did.

Right now, though, they were practicing a coordinated barrel-racing routine. It was more complicated than any one they'd attempted, and it was more for showmanship than to win any events, a freestyle routine. It also involved them switching horses halfway through, an extremely dangerous stunt, which was why they were practicing with their horses at a light trot to begin with.

The horses—Michael on Seraph and Lucifer on Steel—set off at practically a meander, which was a bit slow for either of their tastes. But they weren't stupid—this was dangerous, and they had to be careful. An extra layer of sawdust had been spread in the pen to act as a cushion in case one of them fell, but both of them had survived more dangerous falls from more dangerous horses and bulls before. Neither of them were incredibly worried about serious injury. The worst either one of them had ever sustained was three cracked ribs.

The first minute and a half of the routine were easy—over a couple of fences, rounding a barrel, Michael's horse swerving right in front of Steel as Lucifer's horse sidestepped to the left. Michael slowed Seraph down—he'd had to pick up a bit of speed to pull ahead—and then they both gingerly slid their feet out of the stirrups, crouching to keep their center of gravity low with their boots right on the saddle seats.

This next part was the tricky, dangerous bit of the routine. Michael and Lucifer glanced at each other to check that the other was ready. Michael gave a quick nod, and wordlessly, they jumped—Michael vaulting to his left and Lucifer to the right.

Chuck saw the heel of Lucifer's boot skid across Seraph's saddle, nearly sending him off-balance and tumbling to the sawdust, but a blink later, his younger son had recovered. As one, Michael and Lucifer slid back into the saddles and kicked their horses' sides to power through the last few seconds of the routine.

Chuck applauded, joined by a few of the ranch hands, his daughter-in-law, and his grandson (the last two of whom had managed to sneak up on him while he was watching his sons). Their performance had drawn a lot of attention.

Laughing, Michael leaped out of the saddle and ran back across the pen, followed a second later by Lucifer.

Looking at them, no one would know they were twins. They looked nothing alike, except for their eyes—they both had bright, vividly blue eyes. Michael had dark hair and broader shoulders, towering over his five-foot-six father at six feet tall himself. When he wasn't smiling, he looked sullen and angry. Lucifer, on the other hand, had strawberry-blond hair, an easy smile, and a slighter frame, although he was an inch taller than his older brother. In fact, aside from their eyes and their height (the latter of which came from their mother), the only thing they physically had in common was that they were both strikingly handsome. They were close enough in size to allow them to share clothes.

Their personalities were surprisingly similar, though. Both of them had a habit of cracking ill-timed jokes and messing with each other (although they were also frequently partners in crime). They listened to the same music and had the same dream of rodeo stardom. They'd both conceived children out of wedlock, although while Michael had ended up marrying his son's mother before Inias was born, Lucifer was better off without his daughter's mother—they hadn't seen Eve Campbell in eight years, and that was just fine with the Cohens.

Michael hopped the fence and swept Rachel into a deep kiss. Lucifer made silent gagging motions behind his brother's back, sending his three-year-old nephew Inias into a fit of giggles. After a minute, Michael tore his attention away from Rachel to see what Inias was laughing about. Lucifer innocently looked up at the sky, but Michael knew his brother had been making fun of him, so he launched himself back over the fence, plowing Lucifer to the ground.

Immediately, they were embroiled in an impromptu wrestling match, kicking up sawdust and dirt in clouds that made Inias sneeze.

Chuck let it go on for a few seconds before kicking at them. "Okay, guys, break it up. The horses are supposed to knock you around—don't wanna do their job for 'em, do you?"

Grinning, his sons disentangled themselves and stood up.

"That's what I thought. Okay, the routine looked pretty good—a little rough, but it was only your first time up. Not too bad. You," he added, looking right at Lucifer, "almost fell."

"Almost. But I didn't," Lucifer said, crossing his arms and looking smug.

"If you had a hat on, it woulda fallen off."

Lucifer shrugged. "It's just a hypothetical hat."

"Aside from that, you're doin' fine. Run through it one more time, an' then we'll break for lunch. Dean's gotta go now, though."

"Oh, are those reporter guys comin' in today? I thought it was tomorrow," Michael said.

"Nah, tonight. We're getting' a big dinner ready for 'em, too."

"You want us to show 'em the routine tonight?" Lucifer asked.

"Nah, it's too early for that. Next week. They'll be here for awhile, so there'll be plenty of time."

His boys headed back across the paddock and led their horses to the starting point. This time, Chuck didn't bother watching. Now, they'd know what to look out for, and Rachel was watching as well. She hadn't grown up in a rodeo family like his sons, but she'd been barrel racing since she was eighteen and she'd picked up a few things over the past four years with them. She also had a rather analytic mind. The routine had been her idea in the first place, although Chuck had worked out the details with her and his sons.

As he walked back up to the house, he heard whooping and hoof beats. Without looking back, he smiled. These California reporters wouldn't know what hit them.


	2. Chapter 2

"Wow," Castiel murmured, looking around.

_Wow_ was right, but Balthazar thought the word warranted a touch less awe than Castiel endowed it with. He ground his teeth as they crossed the polished tiles of the arrivals terminal toward baggage claim. They'd both packed light—one duffel bag each—but considering the Western wear that seemed to be in vogue in Tulsa (he had to admit, he wasn't extremely surprised), he definitely wouldn't blend in here. He didn't own one piece of flannel, although he wore jeans frequently. They weren't work jeans, though—everywhere he looked, he saw Levis and Wranglers. His own were Dickies, which weren't bad, but they weren't the same caliber as everyone else's.

He didn't own a pair of cowboy boots, either.

"Look," Castiel added.

Balthazar followed his gaze to a young man in a flannel work shirt, faded jeans, well-worn boots, and a brown cowboy hat perched on his head. He was—well, _beautiful_ was the only word to really describe him. He had almost feminine features, with high cheekbones, full lips, and long eyelashes. He also had a sign in his hands reading _Roché/Collins_.

"Wonderful," Balthazar muttered. They pushed through the throng of people and flagged down the pretty man with a quick wave. "Taz Roché. This is Cas Collins. Are you here from the Cohens?"

The man grinned and dropped the sign. "Yep. Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you, Taz." He shook Balthazar's hand and turned to Castiel. "Cas, was it?" he added.

Castiel seldom blinked as it was, but now he was practically staring at Winchester. Balthazar nearly jostled him, but Winchester was returning his intense gaze, his ears turning pink. _Oh,_ that's _interesting._

"Hello, Dean. I'm Castiel. Just call me Cas," Castiel said.

"No problem." Winchester was still staring, a small smile forming, as he shook Castiel's hand, too. "Call me Dean."

As amused as Balthazar was with Dean Winchester's apparent lack of heterosexuality (he quite obviously already had it bad for Castiel), he was also disappointed—if he'd been expecting to make Castiel a fuck buddy on this trip, he almost assuredly wouldn't succeed now, not with Dean Winchester's bright green eyes right there.

Castiel and Dean finally managed to tear their gazes away from each other long enough for Dean to realize they still needed to pick up their bags. "Baggage claim's this way," he said, jerking his thumb behind him. So because he seemed more familiar with the airport, Balthazar and Castiel followed him toward the carousels.

Dean began chattering about the ranch, where they'd be staying (the grounds of Morning Star Ranch were big enough to accommodate several small guest houses that included a bedroom, bathroom, and study, although only The Big House—Balthazar got the impression it was capitalized—had a kitchen and dining room, big enough to seat twenty at once), the Cohens themselves. Balthazar tuned him out for the most part. Castiel seemed to hang on every word to the exclusion of everything else, so it was Balthazar who plucked Castiel's duffel bag from the track.

Twenty minutes later, the luggage from their flight was replaced by baggage from Boston, and Balthazar was left there without his bag. "I can't believe this," he muttered. "Where's the bloody airline office?"

"That way," Dean said, pointing to a far corner. Balthazar stormed off with Castiel and Dean's footsteps hurrying behind him.

Inside the office, two employees were chatting over cups of coffee. When Balthazar shoved the door open, they both looked up in surprise. "Howdy, there," one of them said with a Southern twang. _Bloody Tulsa_ , Balthazar thought in irritation. "What can I help you with?"

Fighting to keep his voice calm, he said, "I had a bag. One single bag. And it never showed up." Behind him, Castiel and Dean finally crept into the office.

"Can I just get your ticket for a minute?"

Balthazar fished his boarding pass out of his jacket pocket and handed it over.

"Hmm. Hmm. _Hmm._ "

He didn't like the sound of that.

"I guess there was a bit of a problem, sir," she said finally, handing his ticket back. "I have in the system that it was checked in, but apparently it never made it onto the flight."

Balthazar closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "So now what?" he asked. "All the clothes I had packed for this trip are gone, and I'm supposed to be here for three months." At least his laptop had been in his carry-on bag, but every pair of jeans he owned had been in that bag, not to mention a sizable portion of his underwear and socks.

"Well, I'm gonna send an email to our L.A. office an' see if they found it. It's possible the bag's comin' on the next flight in. If it is, we can send it along to wherever you'll be stayin', if that'll work for you."

Balthazar sighed. "I suppose that will do."

"Great! What's the address?"

He blinked for a moment before Dean stepped up to the counter. "Morning Star Ranch," he said, and quickly rattled off an address that Balthazar wasn't able to catch.

"Alright, I'll let them know. Sorry about your bag, sir," the employee added.

Balthazar waved his hand dismissively. "As long as I get it, I don't particularly care."

"Good," Dean said, clapping him good-naturedly on the shoulder. "An' in the meantime, I'm sure we can find someone you can borrow somethin' from."

_Oh, joy._

They finally left the office, and Dean added, "What was in the bag? Just clothes?"

"Yes. My laptop's in here—" He lifted the computer bag off his shoulder for a moment to indicate it "—so that's not a problem, at least."

"That still sucks, though," Dean laughed.

Dean's voice, at least, didn't have a pronounced Southern accent. It was there, but faint. "You're not from Tulsa, are you?"

Dean grinned. "Nope. Me an' Sam—that's my brother—we're from Lawrence, Kansas. We started workin' for the Cohens about two years ago. My dad used to work on an' off for them for awhile, an' when he finally retired, we decided to follow the family business."

_Fascinating._ Between Dean's nearly-obnoxious cheerfulness and the airline losing his bag, he was in a sour mood already. Considering the rodeo and the prospect of meeting the Cohens themselves, it seemed to be the shitty beginning to a shitty assignment.

_If Fuller doesn't give me that promotion, I'm going to murder him._

* * *

Morning Star Ranch was a bumpy hour and a half from the airport. Castiel didn't seem bothered by being squished in the single-bench F-150 Dean drove in between the cowboy and Balthazar, but Balthazar felt stifled. He had his window rolled down until the last half-hour, when the paved road gave way to dirt and rocks. After that, he had to roll the window up and suffer in the ten-year-old truck's limited air conditioning, lest they all choke on the dust they kicked up. Despite it, Dean chattered on happily, telling Castiel all about some of the tournaments he'd won (apparently, the Cohens encouraged their employees to participate, too), and asking Castiel about his story. He threw a question once or twice in Balthazar's direction, but he was in such a bad mood that his answers were curt and eventually Dean focused his attention on an all-too-willing Castiel.

It was a relief to finally get out of the truck and stretch his legs, even if it was on a ranch. There was dirt and grass as far as the eye could see, and about a quarter of a mile away, up on a hill, was what Dean affectionately called The Big House. "The guest houses are all behind it," Dean added.

"It looks rather new," Balthazar admitted. True, the house was fashioned with a log-cabin-type exterior, but the construction itself was no more than fifteen years old. Next to him, Castiel pulled out his camera and started snapping pictures.

"It is," Dean said proudly. "The Cohens have a dynasty. If you're as good as them, you make a lot of money doing this. Most of it was Chuck's, but the boys have earned quite a bit, too. And horse breeding rakes in some money, too."

"So where is everyone?"

"They should be out in a minute. Chuck's makin' sure dinner's gettin' ready... man, I got no idea where the boys are. Rachel an' the little ones are probably up in The Big House, too, an' the other employees... probably in the stables or the pens. Oh, there," Dean added, nudging Balthazar and pointing at a figure that had just emerged from behind The Big House, "that's Sam, my brother." Dean let out a piercing whistle (with no forewarning except to stick his pinkies in his mouth) and waved his arms. "Sammy!"

Sam waved back and hurried over. Even from a distance, he looked big, but as he got closer, he just kept getting bigger. Nearly six and a half feet tall, he had shoulder-length light-brown hair, hazel eyes, and a bright smile. He was dressed similarly to his brother in a flannel shirt, well-worn jeans, leather boots, and a cowboy hat. It wasn't just his height that made him look big, though—he had incredibly broad shoulders, making Dean look practically waifish in comparison. "He's good with the big horses and the bulls," Dean explained.

"Hey, Dean. These the reporters?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, these're them. Cas Collins, Taz Roché." Balthazar decided it had been a very wise decision to just go by "Taz" instead of "Balthazar." He had a feeling his full name wouldn't go over too well here.

"Great to meet you. Sam Winchester," the younger Winchester said, shaking their hands.

"Where's everyone else?"

"Boys are out for a ride. They should be back in a few minutes. And Chuck—"

There came another loud, splitting whistle, this time from the direction of The Big House. _Bloody hell, is that the only way they know how to get each others' attention?_ When Balthazar looked, someone else was jogging toward them, also clad in a plaid flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. Fortunately, he didn't wear a cowboy hat. Balthazar was getting a bit tired of seeing those.

"That would be the man himself," Sam said by way of explanation.

"Hey, guys!" "the man himself" said once he finally got to them. He was shorter than all of them, barely five and a half feet tall (a little taller with his boots). He had a scruffy brown beard with flecks of gray in it, and his brown hair curled across his forehead and around his ears. "Roché an' Collins, right?"

"Taz Roché," Balthazar said.

"Cas Collins."

"Nice to meet you! I'm Chuck Cohen. Thanks for comin' out—I think you'll like it here. You already met our Winchesters, so let me take you around an' introduce you to everyone else."

"Sure," Balthazar said, knowing he couldn't really say no.

"I'll bring your bag to the guest house where you'll be stayin'," Dean said to Castiel. "Oh, Chuck, Taz's bag never made it onto the flight, so until it gets sent over, he'll have to borrow somethin' from one of the boys."

"I'll take care of it," Chuck said easily. "A bit of frustrating, though, I don't doubt," he added, starting off toward the house. So Balthazar and Castiel followed him away from the Winchesters.

"Everyone's kind of scattered around right now. Ellen an' Rachel are in The Big House, finishin' up dinner, so I hope you're hungry."

He was starving, actually, having slept during the whole flight.

"Jo an' Anna are around somewhere, probably puttin' the horses in for the night, the boys are out ridin', an' the kids are probably underfoot somewhere," Chuck added with a fond chuckle. "Come on, let's go to the barn."

It didn't smell _quite_ as bad as Balthazar expected. The hay had just been changed, and a redhead was leading a dark-brown mare into one of the stalls. She was quite pretty, with blue eyes, a wide smile, and her hair braided into pigtails. She wore the standard ranch uniform of jeans and flannel with a pair of boots that came up to mid-calf, her jeans tucked into them. "Hey, Chuck, who's this?"

"Taz Roché and Cas Collins from _National Sporting_. Taz, Cas, this is Anna Milton. She's been here about... how long now?"

"Seven years," Anna said proudly. "It's great here, guys—welcome to Tulsa!"

"Thanks," Balthazar said. Anna raised an eyebrow for a moment at his accent—British, just like Bela's, and he'd been getting that inquisitive look a lot today—but she didn't comment. So far, no one had. It was a bit surprising, actually.

"Do you mind?" Castiel asked, raising his camera.

"No, not at all." She rested a hand on the mare's head, still holding the reins with the other, and Castiel snapped a few pictures. Balthazar wasn't sure what Castiel was planning to do with the pictures—Anna was an employee, not a Cohen, and he doubted the magazine would be interested in anyone in the background—but couldn't deny that Anna was pretty enough to warrant a full photo shoot. Then again, if all the ranch hands competed as well, maybe there was something they could do with that.

After they left the barn, they just caught a glimpse of another woman riding full-tilt toward the barn. Even from a distance, her blond hair was vivid, streaming behind her in waves. "That's Jo Harvelle. You'll meet her at dinner—she's a bit busy right now," Chuck explained. "And over there," he added, pointing off in another direction to another pair of figures on horseback riding directly toward them, "are the boys, Mike and Nick. You should probably meet them now."

_Oh, goody,_ Balthazar thought, but he kept his sarcasm contained. Next to him, Castiel started taking pictures again.

Within about twenty seconds, the two had drawn up to them and came to a stop. "Boys!" Chuck said. "These are the guys from _National Sporting_. This is Taz Roché an' Cas Collins. Taz, Cas, these are my sons, Michael and Nick."

Balthazar wondered if these were the "twins" that Crowley had referred to. They certainly didn't _look_ like twins. Michael had dark hair, dark-blue eyes, and sat his horse like he was about to ride into battle. He was ruggedly handsome with a strong jaw and full lips. Still, Nick was the one who immediately drew Balthazar's attention. His hair was lighter, reddish-blond, and his eyes were a lighter blue. Upon halting his horse, he'd sunk into a slouch, leaning forward and regarding Balthazar and Castiel with an almost predatory grin. He was just as attractive as his brother, if less conventionally so, and the dusty blue shirt he wore made his eyes look brighter. Balthazar was immediately, insanely attracted, even if he knew that Nick would undoubtedly grate on his nerves.

"Welcome to the ranch," Nick said, his eyes fixed right on Balthazar. The grin on his face seemed amused, like his brother had just told him a joke that everyone else missed.

"Lookin' forward to havin' you around," Michael added. He also smiled, although his seemed more genuine and benevolent than Nick's.

"I'm gonna taken them up to The Big House. Dinner'll be ready soon, so put those horses away. Goodness knows they deserve a break after you two."

Nick threw his head back and laughed. "We're not that bad—race you!" The last part, he yelled, snapping the reins and charging off toward the barn.

"No fair, you bastard!" Michael shouted after him, taking off behind him as fast as his own horse could go.

Chuck shook his head, smiling. "Those two have been constantly competing with each other since the day they were born."

"They're twins?" Balthazar asked.

"Yep. Closest brothers I've ever seen. But they don't just compete with each other—they work well together, too. Come on, nothin' excitin' is happenin' down here now. All the action is up at The Big House."


	3. Chapter 3

Dinner ended up being just as big an affair as Balthazar suspected it would be. There were thirteen of them gathered around the table, including two children—a nine-year-old girl and a three-year-old boy. The boy, Inias, was Michael's son; he had his father's dark hair and his mother Rachel's brown eyes. Inias sat between his mother and father and seemed to be a rather well-behaved child. The girl, June, was Nick's daughter, with Nick's eyes and hair (although her hair wasn't exactly strawberry-blond like his—it was almost completely red). No one commented on the fact that June's mother was conspicuously absent, least of all June or Nick. Balthazar sensed there was an interesting story there—Nick didn't wear a wedding ring, either, while both Michael and Rachel did.

Balthazar initially suspected that Anna was June's mother, but that theory was quashed when June referred to her as "Miss Milton." It wouldn't have made much sense, though—Anna seemed too young to be her mother anyway.

Both children called the ranch hands by their last names—Miss Milton, Miss Harvelle, Mrs. Harvelle (that was Ellen, Jo's mother). The exception was for Dean and Sam, who were both Winchesters. The children called them "Mr. Dean" and "Mr. Sam." ("Mr. Winchester is my father," Dean joked.)

Also absent was another Mrs. Cohen—Chuck's wife. He wondered what _that_ story was, since Chuck wore a wedding ring even though he hadn't even mentioned being married. Balthazar wanted to get to the bottom of this strange family, even though his articles could be written just fine without knowing. It was a genuine curiosity—human relationships fascinated him.

Everyone seemed boisterous and friendly, carrying on animated conversations with people next to them or halfway across the table, shooting questions without warning at Balthazar and Castiel and catching both of them off-guard. Chaos reigned, but it was the most cheerful chaos Balthazar had ever witnessed. He almost enjoyed it, until the Winchesters got into a heated debate about one of the steers, a discussion that soon embroiled the whole table with the exception of Balthazar, Castiel, and three-year-old Inias. Even June had an opinion, not that Balthazar could follow any of it.

After the topic changed to something else, Balthazar glanced at Chuck, who was sitting at the head of the table. Michael was at his right and Nick sat at his left. On Michael's other side was Inias, then Rachel, Dean, and Sam. Ellen sat directly across from Chuck, with her daughter next to her. Anna sat next to Jo and across from Sam. Next to Anna and across from Dean was Castiel (all the better for the two of them to stare at each other), and Balthazar was on Castiel's other side, next to June. Chuck seemed to rule over the mob, cutting off arguments before they could start. It was the first experience Balthazar really had with a "family dinner." His mother had raised him alone, and most dinners had been with the TV on and his mother talking on the phone.

But the kids seemed happy, and even Castiel started to appear at-ease as the meal progressed. It was a relaxing atmosphere, and the food was surprisingly delicious—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, stuffing, green beans, carrots, corn, and dinner rolls. Even more surprising (to Balthazar, anyway) was that Ellen hadn't made all the food herself. Chuck had allegedly made about half of the food—Balthazar somehow assumed that Chuck would see cooking as beneath him, but Ellen claimed he actually enjoyed it and had been doing it for years before she and her daughter had started working for the family.

After dinner, Dean showed Balthazar and Castiel to where they'd be staying, and Balthazar finally checked his phone (Chuck had a rule that no one was allowed to even look at their phones during dinner). He had several text messages—Bela, Gabriel, Crowley, and a few others. One by one, he started returning messages and, in Crowley's case, phone calls.

"Evening, darling," Crowley greeted him.

Balthazar rolled his eyes. "Evening."

"How's my little desert flower?"

"Contemplating homicide."

"It's not that bad, is it?"

"It's dusty, it's windy, it's smelly, and the airline lost my bag."

"Oh, dear. Which one?"

"The one with all of my clothes."

"Not your laptop?"

"No. I have my computer."

"That's all you need, then."

"Shut up," Balthazar growled as someone knocked on the door to the guest house. "Hang on, I have to answer that." He set the phone down and went to the door.

"Hey, Taz," Dean said by way of greeting. He held out a set of orange-and-white sweats with _Texas Longhorns_ emblazoned on them. "Wasn't sure what size you were, but you seemed closer to Mike's size than Nick's. He was willing to part with these until you get your bag back."

"Thanks."

"An' there's a little laundry area in the back by the bathroom for when you need it," Dean added. "There should already be detergent an' whatnot ready to go."

"Thanks," Balthazar repeated.

Dean grinned, tipped his hat (Balthazar very nearly rolled his eyes), and walked back toward The Big House. As he walked away, Balthazar reflected that he should have asked for a toothbrush and toothpaste—they had also been in with his clothes. It was too late now, though—unless he wanted to let out one of those piercing whistles, but he doubtlessly lacked the ability.

"I'm back," he said a few moments later. He put his phone on speaker and began changing into the sweatpants and sweatshirt.

"Excellent. So how are the Cohens?"

"How are they faring or how do I like them?"

"Yes."

Balthazar gritted his teeth. "They seem to be fine, and I can't wait to come back home. The food was good, I suppose," he added as an afterthought.

"Have you met everyone yet?"

"To my knowledge, we have. Chuck, Michael, Nick—I'm assuming they're who you meant by 'the twins'—Mike's wife and son, Nick's daughter, a few ranch hands... that's it."

"Sounds like that's about it. Impressions?"

"I haven't seen anyone actually competing yet. But the twins and one of the ranch hands, a Jo Harvelle, seem to be capable on horseback," Balthazar admitted.

"That's to be expected," Crowley said.

Balthazar mentally beamed a string of curse words at his boss.

"But I suppose it's too early to expect anything. Get rested up and start writing tomorrow."

"Have you ever known me to miss a deadline?"

"There's a first time for everything. And you've never been to Oklahoma before. I imagine it's all a bit... distracting."

Balthazar hung up with Crowley chortling on the other end of the line. He glared at his phone for a moment before shoving it away and settling on the edge of the bed, pulling his laptop toward him. The article should doubtlessly start with his first impressions—fortunately, he knew how to keep his writing voice unbiased, even when he was hopelessly prejudiced.

* * *

"Think they'll last?" Michael asked. He was up to his elbows in suds, scrubbing at one of the many pots Ellen and his father had used to make dinner.

"What, here?" Lucifer said, drying off another, already-washed dish. He went by "Lu" with his family and the employees—although they were practically part of the family anyway—and he didn't doubt it was only a matter of time before their guests picked up on the fact that his name wasn't actually Nick.

"Yeah. The blond one, Taz or whatever his name is, he doesn't seem too cut out for ranch life, does he?"

No, he definitely didn't. Lu bit his lip to hide the small smile that threatened to form—true, Taz seemed a little too used to city life to last out here very long, but that didn't mean Lu held him in disdain. Actually, it was almost adorable, in a lost-puppy sort of way. "Rachel didn't like it here at first, though, did she?"

"No, but at least she's from Dallas. She was used to it. An' she likes it out here now, anyway."

_So maybe Taz will get used to it._

He knew better than to say it, though—it was foolish to think Taz would want to stay. Not that Lu was hoping for it or anything. He had everything he needed already. The last thing he wanted was a complication, and considering the way his heart had skipped a beat when he and Taz had first looked at each other, the man was shaping up to be a hell of a complication.

Not that Lu would never admit _that_ out loud, either. "I think he'll be here the whole time."

Michael scoffed. "You got high expectations for that one, I tell you what. Fifty bucks says he'll be here a month, tops, before he goes runnin' back to California."

"No fair antagonizin' him an' makin' him leave. Deal?"

Michael grinned. "Fine, I won't fuck with him. Deal." He pulled his hand out of the soapy water to shake on it, slopping water all over the kitchen floor.

"You're cleanin' that up, not me," Lu laughed, shaking his brother's hand. "An' what about Cas?"

"He's made a' hardier stuff than Taz. He'll stick it out 'til the end, no doubt." Michael finished scrubbing a pan and set it on the drying rack, awaiting his brother's dish towel.

Lu agreed with his assessment, at least. He was pretty sure they'd both stay. They had jobs to do, after all. They would stay until the end. "They seem okay so far."

"Cas, maybe. Taz seems way too standoffish. He don't wanna be here—I can tell."

"He just needs to warm up to the place."

Michael shook his head. There was a small smile on his face as he said, "I got no idea why you like him—he seems like the type to spit on us as soon as look at us. Real city-slicker type."

"Those city-slickers down in Dallas seem to like us well enough," Lu pointed out, hoping Michael couldn't see on his face just how close to the mark he was. He kept any potential flames pretty close to the vest, mostly because his family had no idea he was bisexual. At least, he was pretty sure he was—in the past six years, the only people he'd ever felt an attraction to had been men. Not since Eve had he found himself attracted to a woman, and maybe he'd never find another woman attractive again. But his brother and his father couldn't know he liked men—he had no idea how they'd react, and he didn't want to risk their rejection by telling them.

"Those city-slickers down in Dallas are different. They're all just misplaced ranchers, anyway," Michael joked.

Lu put away the pan lid he'd just finished drying. "Some of 'em got soft."

"Not everyone's perfect. Still, maybe they'll surprise us," he conceded.

"They'll probably like that trip to Dallas next week, anyway."

Michael grinned. "Shit, even _I'm_ looking forward to that. Three an' a half months since the last competition—I'm goin' crazy up here."

"How's Inias doin' on his ridin'?"

"Pretty good, actually. Looks like he's got his daddy's sense a' balance. An' he doesn't fuck with the horses like we did at that age."

"They're like big dogs," Lu admitted with a smile. "They ain't gonna bite him or kick him anyway."

"Nah, but it's still good practice for when he's around horses that aren't so docile. Speakin' a' kids, is Junie gonna be competin' in the kids' events?"

"Probably. She's been talkin' about nothin' else for the last month. Ever since Jo told her she was good enough to race..." Lu shook his head. "She'll be heartbroken if I don't let her."

"True enough. Might as well—I'm sure Taz an' Cas can work it into their story. Some kind a' multi-generational rodeo dynasty or whatever."

"I'm sure that'll be the title. 'The Cohens' Multi-Generational Rodeo Dynasty or Whatever.'"

Michael splashed him.

* * *

By the time Balthazar went to sleep that night, he'd made fairly decent headway into the beginning of his first article. He'd have to talk to the Cohens one-on-one (he figured he'd have to fight to separate Michael and Nick for any length of time, but he was good at that) to get a bit more background, but that's also what this first article would be—establishing background.

Then again, he could probably hold off on the one-on-one for a few weeks. Just as interesting as it would be to talk to them separately, it would also be to talk to them together.

_An hour and a half from the Tulsa Airport is the sprawling Morning Star Ranch owned by Chuck Cohen. It's a dusty, out-of-the-way place that doesn't see many visitors, which one might regard as a missed opportunity. (FIND OUT ACREAGE!) Over the ## acres sits a veritable log mansion, a number (find out how many) of guest houses for additional visitors, a barn can house twenty horses (additional details here), and several large enclosures. At any given time, one can see any of the pens arranged for barrel racing with one of the horses being put through its paces, either by a ranch hand or, more likely, by another Cohen._

_For the last thirty-five years, the Cohen name has dominated in rodeo circles—hardly a competition goes by without someone named Cohen entered in some event or another. In the early days, it was only Chuck himself, but over the last twenty years, the now 53-year-old Cohen has turned the proverbial reins over to his twin sons, Michael and Nicholas (?). While competing against each other, they train cooperatively (I assume...), and it's rare when one of them doesn't place._

_[[But Michael and Nicholas aren't the only ones from the ranch who compete. Chuck encourages his employees to enter into rodeo events as well, and in particular, Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle are accomplished in their own rights. (add events and places—possibly take out later?]]_

He needed more details, he knew—and he was pretty sure that when Crowley said "just the twins," he meant that the articles should focus mostly on them. He'd send his first draft along in a week or so and see what his editor had to say about it. For right now, he'd keep it. Besides, he thought it was rather impressive that so many involved with the Cohens and not just the Cohens themselves were proficient in their events.

He didn't have anything else to talk about, after all. Although he _had_ just gotten here hours ago—in a few days, after he'd seen what life was like here, he'd probably end up scrapping the whole thing and starting over. He did like his opening line, but he might just come up with something better.

Balthazar checked his phone one last time (nothing new from Bela), set his alarm for six-thirty, and closed up his laptop. It was nearly eleven, anyway. If he was going to be a functioning human being tomorrow, he needed to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Six-thirty was apparently too late. An hour before his alarm went off, he heard yelling outside his little guest house, and after fifteen minutes of pulling his pillow over his head and fighting to get back to sleep, he finally gave up and got dressed.

He'd washed his clothes the night before, so after he stripped off the sweatpants and sweatshirt kindly lent by Michael, he put on the same thing he'd worn the day before—Dickies jeans, a white V-neck shirt, and running shoes. He'd have to see what Castiel had brought. The two of them were the same height and build, so Balthazar might be able to borrow some of his things until his own bag arrived (not that he even owned so much as a stitch of flannel, much less packed it).

When he finally emerged shortly before six, it was to see that Castiel was already awake and actually looked _normal_. Then again, Balthazar had never seen him look anything less than completely cool, even when his standard uniform of a business suit and trench coat (which he'd foregone here) was hopelessly rumpled. Right now, he wore jeans, a blue button-down shirt over a white T-shirt, what looked like construction boots, and a slightly surprised expression.

"Balthazar, I was just coming to get you. There's coffee and breakfast up in The Big House."

"Please tell me this early-rising shite is just because it's a weekday."

Something that might have almost been a smile twitched at Castiel's mouth. "I don't think so. I believe this is a daily occurrence."

Balthazar rolled his eyes. "Well, let's get on with it, then." _It's only five back home. This is bloody mad._

Breakfast was a much more reserved affair than dinner had been. Balthazar ate in the kitchen with Castiel under Chuck's watchful gaze. The children ate in the kitchen, too, but aside from them, everyone else rushed in and out every few minutes, grabbing a bite or two whenever they got a chance. Balthazar was pretty sure he saw a whole loaf of bread disappear into the toaster by the time breakfast was over, and between the thirteen people on the ranch, it was unsurprising. Sam grabbed four slices of toast by himself, and everyone else grabbed at least two. "Mornings are a rush here," Chuck explained. "I don't feel like waking up at three-thirty to make a big breakfast for everyone, so we just grab whatever we can find where we can get it. Lunch is a bit more organized, though."

June pushed away from the table. "I'm all done, Granddad," she said to Chuck.

"Go brush your teeth and get your backpack. Your dad will be up in a few minutes to take you to school."

"Okay, Granddad." She put her plate and silverware in the sink and hurried out of the kitchen, her strawberry-blond braid bouncing.

_She's definitely Nick's daughter._ It was actually surprising how much she resembled him. "Where does she go to school?" Balthazar asked Chuck, interested in spite of himself. Maybe his article could start here.

"One a' the public schools in town, about an hour away. The closest one to here, unfortunately. By the time I built this place, my sons were sixteen an'... well, they basically dropped out. It somehow never occurred to me that one or both a' them might end up havin' kids. But by the time Inias starts goin' to school, Rachel should be done with her teachin' degree an' will be able to homeschool them. Plus, the Internet is an amazin' thing," Chuck joked.

Castiel filled his second cup of coffee. "It _is_ a fair distance to the closest town. How do you stand being out here by yourselves?"

"It's not that bad. We're all basically one big family anyway—Dean an' Sam are brothers, an' Ellen is Jo's mother. But they leave every other weekend, blow off some steam, an' durin' December an' January, they all go home an' visit family. Those're our slowest months, anyway. An' it's not like there's no civilization anywhere—the closest town is only a half an hour away. It's just too small to have its own school. It's plenty big enough to have its own bar." Chuck shrugged, starting to rinse off June's dishes. "Besides, every other month or so, we're travelin' out a' town or out a' state for a competition, an' those last from a weekend to a whole week."

"You take the kids for those?" Balthazar asked.

"Yep. They like watchin' their parents compete. Rachel's pretty good with a lasso, actually."

_What about June's mother?_ he wanted to ask, but it didn't feel like the right time.

A few minutes later, Nick himself wandered in, swinging a set of keys around his index finger. "June gettin' ready?"

"Just brushin' her teeth now."

"Thanks." Nick rubbed at his eyes for a moment, and then pointed at the cupboard above Balthazar's head. "Can you pass me a mug?"

It took Balthazar a second to realize Nick was talking to _him_ and another second for him to react, so when he finally grabbed a mug out of the cupboard and handed it to Nick, he felt like an idiot. Even worse, he didn't even have the decency to ignore it—he just stood there grinning while he scooted in between Balthazar and Castiel to pour his coffee.

Balthazar didn't know if Nick was irritating because he was attractive or attractive because he was irritating, but he _did_ know that Nick was irritating, attractive, and radiating heat like an oven. It wasn't necessarily a cool morning, but something about the warmth rolling off him made Balthazar want to press up against him.

Not that he would. While Nick was plenty friendly, Balthazar was pretty sure he was straight, and besides, he was about the most bothersome person on the ranch—although why he immediately thought so, he couldn't say.

Fortunately, he was saved from analyzing it when June reappeared in the kitchen with her backpack over one shoulder. "Mornin', Daddy!"

"Mornin', June Bug. You ready to go to school?"

"You bet!" She hopped onto his back, and he carried her out of the kitchen with his keys in one hand and his coffee in the other. Balthazar tried to hate him, but it was difficult when his daughter obviously adored him.

"He'll be back in a couple hours," Chuck said. "Everyone else should be just finishin' up their mornin' chores, an' Dean'll be takin' a couple a' the horses out in a bit. I'll be down later—go talk to them."

Balthazar and Castiel finished their coffee and, exchanging a quick glance, took Chuck's advice. They had to stop by Castiel's room so he could pick up his camera, but by the time they made it down, the activity around one particular enclosure seemed to be picking up.

Sam and Anna were hefting hay bales into the pen. Castiel raised his camera and began snapping pictures. Balthazar glanced around and noted Dean striding toward them, but before he had a chance to tell Castiel, he was already level with them.

"Ain't nothin' happenin' yet," he said teasingly.

Castiel would have dropped his camera if it hadn't been on a strap around his neck.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. You scare easy."

"You snuck up on me," Castiel pointed out. He didn't sound annoyed, though.

"I have a habit of doin' that. You should save some pictures for when Nicky comes back."

"It's a sixty-four gigabyte memory card. I don't believe I'll run out of room anytime soon." To illustrate his point, Castiel raised his camera and took four pictures of Dean.

_Those probably aren't for the magazine._

As they two of them bent over the screen on the back of Castiel's Canon, Balthazar surveyed the area to make sure they weren't being watched too closely. He personally didn't care about the flirting, but he wished it weren't so obvious. He doubted the Cohens were so liberal as to disregard two men blatantly flirting with each other.

So far, no one seemed to notice. Sam and Anna were too busy rolling out hay, and Jo was leaning up against the fence and heckling them as she fed a couple of the horses. As for Ellen and Rachel, Balthazar hadn't seen either of them all morning.

He caught sight of Michael leading another horse to the enclosure as well. As far as Balthazar could tell, it was the same one he'd been riding the day before when he'd first seen him and his brother, the pure white stallion that seemed like it would go well with a set of armor.

Dean noticed him, too. "That's Seraph. He's one a' the best horses we have. He's been Mikey's horse for... shit, like ten years now? An' Nick mostly rides Steel. Nasty piece a' work, that one. He hates pretty much anyone who's _not_ Nick, although Mike an' Nick have started doin' this trick where they switch horses halfway through the routine, an' Steel seems to tolerate being ridden by Mikey."

Balthazar tried to deduce how a trick like that would go, then decided he'd probably find out while he was here. It wasn't like he was stuck here for three months or something—they'd most likely show him.

Jo untied one of the horses from the post it was hitched to and climbed up into the saddle. She made it look so ridiculously easy that, even though he'd never ridden before, Balthazar felt like he could do it, too. She guided the horse into the enclosure and Sam and Anna hopped over the fence to land outside the paddock. For a few moments, Jo leaned over the horse's head and seemed to whisper something into its ear, and then she straightened up. A moment later, they were off like a shot, charging toward the other side of the paddock.

By now, Michael had arrived and hitched Seraph to the post near the enclosure. He watched her critically as her horse leaped over and wove between the obstacles Sam and Anna had put down. "That's basically what the course runs like at the next competition," Dean explained. "She's gonna enter, an' if she doesn't win, she'll definitely place. She's been practicin' every mornin'—this is like a warm-up for them."

Balthazar found that easy to believe—the horse seemed barely winded once they finished and headed back to the beginning of the course, and Jo herself practically looked bored. "Any suggestions, o mystic rodeo oracle?" she asked Michael, giving him a mock bow from her saddle.

Michael grinned and threw a handful of hay at her. "Yeah, don't fuck with your elders."

"Oh, please. A twenty-three-year-old woman is far more mature than a twenty-eight-year-old man."

"You wanna race an' find out? Why don't you put your money where your mouth is?"

Jo smirked. "I ain't afraid a' you none," she said in an exaggerated Southern accent. She and Anna were the only two who didn't sound like they were from the South, and Jo's mother had only the barest trace of an accent.

"Kick his butt!" Anna yelled.

"You're next," Michael joked, pointing at her.

"You want to go through my routine? Think you can do it faster?" Jo challenged. She turned to Sam, who was holding a stopwatch. "What was my time?"

"A minute-ten."

She looked back at Michael. "There's your time to beat. Take your pick of any horse in the stables, and I know Laser is faster."

Michael grinned, untying Seraph. "We'll see about that." He quickly mounted the horse and led him into the enclosure as Jo led hers out.

"Do they always do this?" Balthazar asked Dean quietly.

"Not every day, but fairly often. Challengin' each other is a good way to benchmark where you're at. An' if Jo wants to be faster than Michael... well, good luck to her, but if she manages, she'll _definitely_ win the event."

Michael tilted his head to the side as he surveyed the obstacles, absently stroking Seraph's mane. Then he looked back at Sam. "You ready?"

"Waitin' on you, boss," Sam said.

Cohen smirked and took off. Balthazar couldn't tell who'd been faster, him or Jo, but as Michael swerved between the obstacles, he thought he had her beat—but not by much. A little over a minute later, he hit the finish point, turned around, and yelled toward Sam, "Time?"

"A minute..." Sam grinned, letting the moment hang in suspense, before he finished. "Twelve."

Michael's jaw dropped in shock and Jo was nearly beside herself with glee. "Take _that_ , you over-confident, pompous—!"

"Hey, bite me!"

"Then again," Dean admitted quietly to Balthazar and Castiel, "Jo and Laser are both smaller and faster. That probably gave them the edge over Mike and Seraph."

Michael hung his head in an overly-dramatic fashion. "I'm just glad Lu isn't around to see this."

"No, but the reporters are!" Jo pointed out.

He glanced at them like he hadn't noticed they were there, and he grinned sheepishly. "You ain't gonna mention me gettin' beat by an employee, are you?"

"I'll try to keep it quiet," Balthazar half-joked. "No guarantees."

"Fine, just don't tell my brother."

_I wouldn't give him the satisfaction._ "Deal."

Michael dismounted and walked Seraph back out of the paddock to a water trough. "Anyone seen Rachel an' Inias this mornin'? They're usually out here by now."

"I saw Inias at breakfast," Anna said, "but I haven't seen a sign of Rachel all morning. She wasn't in the barn?"

"Not that I saw."

"Rachel usually saddles up one a' the ponies for Inias to ride. He's too young to compete," Dean said at Balthazar's alarmed expression, "but Mike an' Nick have been ridin' since they were younger than Inias is now, an' right now for him, it's all about teachin' good ridin' habits. He'll probably compete in a few years. I think Mike an' Nick are both pretty keen on the idea a' passin' rodeo greatness onto their kids."

"What if one of them didn't want to compete?" Balthazar asked.

Dean seemed surprised by the question. "Then they wouldn't have to. Chuck doesn't _make_ anyone compete. Hell, Sam doesn't—he's just here until we scrape together the funds to send him to college. But June loves to ride an' she can't wait to compete, an' Inias seems to like it, so it hasn't been an issue yet. It's not like they don't get any outside exposure or have other hobbies, either. June does lots of other stuff." Dean shrugged. "The ridin' just happens to be both her favorite thing an' the easiest for her to do."

He supposed that was fair enough. Chuck seemed pretty sensible in that regard—he didn't strike Balthazar as the type to force someone to do anything. "Could I just walk around, or is there somewhere I'm not allowed to go, or...?"

"Sure, you can walk if you want. Probably cover more ground ridin', but our land's marked by fences, so you have to be _tryin'_ to wander off the grounds. But ridin' around the perimeter would take the whole damn day, so I wouldn't try it unless you bring a lunch," Dean added.

"I've never ridden before."

"Oh, it's easy. I can show you—takes like five minutes."

"Alright." He wasn't thrilled with the idea, but if he was going to be here for three months, he might as well pick up another skill in the process.

"What about you, Cas?" Dean asked. "Wanna renounce your city-slicker ways an' learn to ride a horse?"

Castiel smiled. "As a matter of fact, I ride very well already."


	5. Chapter 5

Balthazar would absolutely _never_ get used to riding a horse. He bounced up and down in the saddle like the horse was a pogo stick, his legs were sore from squeezing the horse's sides, and he was pretty sure he'd walk funny for the rest of the day. How horseback riding had ever been considered a viable mode of transportation escaped him, much less why people _still_ chose the ride them.

Castiel, on the other hand, looked nothing short of serene sitting on his borrowed horse, waiting for Dean to finish explaining the basics. It wasn't unduly complicated, after all—it was just something Balthazar had never done before. Dean glanced at Castiel so often that Balthazar would have believed he wasn't even there, and Castiel barely took his eyes off Dean. It was getting a bit nauseating, actually.

To make matters worse, just as Dean had just finished his impromptu lesson when the last person in the world that Balthazar wanted to see swaggered into the barn. Nick Cohen looked momentarily surprised—Balthazar assumed it was the shock of seeing both him and Castiel on horses—but he quickly recovered, flashing them all a grin. "Hey, Dean-o. How much coercion did _that_ take?"

Dean shrugged. "Not all that much. Taz wanted to walk, but I told him it'd be faster to ride. An' Cas here is apparently already familiar with it."

"Unsurprising," Nick said. Maybe it was Balthazar's imagination, but he thought he saw a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. If anyone else noticed it, though, they didn't say.

"Right, well. Coming, Cas?" Balthazar asked, and without waiting for an answer, he took off out of the barn.

* * *

 

"Huh. Cute," Lu muttered once they were gone. "Think he's always like this, or is it just me he hates?"

Dean shrugged. "I wouldn't take it personally. He didn't seem too unfriendly earlier, but he doesn't seem to like it here much. By the way, you didn't hear this from me, but Jo beat your brother's barrel-racin' time by two seconds."

Lu's face cracked into a wide grin. "Did she, now? Well, that's some a' the best news I heard all mornin'."

"Thought that might cheer you up. He's gonna be pissy all day, though."

"I don't doubt that at all. Alright, go tell Mikey I'll be down in a few minutes. He saw me pull up, but let him know I gotta saddle up Steel. He's gonna wanna practice."

"Sure thing." Dean picked up his hat and headed out the door, back down to the paddock. As soon as he was gone, Lu went to the huge door that Taz and Cas had rode out of.

They hadn't gone far. They'd stopped no more than fifty yards away, and their heads were turned toward each other. He couldn't tell what they were talking about, but Taz looked annoyed. _Maybe Dean's right, then._ Lu turned back to Steel and started saddling him up.

* * *

 

"We're not making a very good impression here, Balthazar," Castiel said, his voice lower than usual.

"I'm bloody aware," Balthazar muttered. "I can't stand this place, you know."

"I find nothing objectionable—"

"You never do, Cas."

"Aside from the way you've been treating the Cohens." Castiel waited a beat, and then, as though it had just occurred to him, added, "Especially Nick. You seem to dislike him in particular. What's that about?"

Balthazar felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. He could _not_ believe they were talking about this right here—Nick could overhear. Sure, they'd gone far enough that their voices wouldn't carry under normal circumstances, but there was nothing but open air between them and the doors of the barn. "Right, well. Haven't you ever met someone you intensely disliked for no apparent reason? Personality clash, they rub you the wrong way—however you want to say it. Nick Cohen doesn't have to _do_ anything—I just hate him. Although it doesn't help that he's a self-absorbed jackass."

Castiel squinted. "Were you even _at_ dinner last night? Nick is hardly self-absorbed. He was nothing but attentive to his daughter in particular and the rest of the household in general. Even you. He tried to draw you into the conversation, despite your obvious attempts to avoid it."

"Right, well. These bloody cowboys think they've got some kind of life wisdom that we don't just because they grew up on a bloody ranch surrounded by bloody animals and pickup trucks, and we didn't."

"And don't you think that you harbor some sort of similar prejudice against them for precisely the same reason? You view them as ignorant and uneducated. But all of them, not just the employees, know quite a bit about taking care of their animals—well enough to be veterinarians, in Dean's case. And Nick drives his daughter to school every day even though it's an hour away—don't you think he's devoted to ensuring she has a good education?"

Balthazar gritted his teeth. Castiel wasn't making this any easier, was he? The truth was, Nick was impossibly attractive to him—tall, strong without being bulky, with hair that wasn't quite red and wasn't quite blond but some intriguing shade in between, and eyes that always seemed to smile like he was laughing even when he wasn't. And on top of all that, he was _nice_ , too—he'd noticed. He made jokes and teased people, but he wasn't mean about it.

_But he thinks he's so cool just because he's some kind of rodeo prodigy. Like that's going to impress me or something._ It didn't, either. He just wished Nick would stop walking around like he thought he was the hottest shit since Garth Brooks or something.

Balthazar wanted him bad.

And there was the real problem, because Nick was hopelessly straight. He would never look twice at him, and that was the part that pissed Balthazar off more than anything. He had never been so attracted to a straight man in his life, never wanted someone he couldn't have, and it was frustrating. Contrasted with Castiel and Dean Winchester's seemingly immediate spark, it was all Balthazar could do to keep from punching Nick in the face. So he did what he could to keep himself from making a fool of himself, even though so far, it seemed as though avoidance was still enough to make him look like a fool.

"Balthazar, whatever kind of issue you have with the Cohens, you need to put it aside," Castiel went on when Balthazar didn't answer. "We were sent here on a mission, so we must behave professionally."

"Fine," Balthazar muttered. "I'll play nice."

"Good." Castiel looked around across the field. "Well, was your suggestion a pretext, or did you really want to ride? Because this actually looks like a rather nice place to do it."

Balthazar sighed. "Lead the way."

"Very well." Castiel squeezed the horse's sides and set off toward the left, away from Nick and Michael, and Balthazar followed, feeling the distinct tang of bitterness.

* * *

 

It was nearly two hours before they returned. By then, Balthazar could see the cluster of people around the paddock now included Chuck, Rachel, and Inias. As he watched, Nick and Michael both mounted their horses and took off.

"What are they doing?" Balthazar asked.

"Dean mentioned that they began practicing a barrel-racing routine. I believe this is it. This is the first time they've done this kind of thing in tandem."

It didn't take long, just over three minutes at half speed. Toward the end, they did a clever maneuver where they switched horses—standing up and leaping from one saddle to the other, a stunt Balthazar found incredibly dangerous, if rather impressive—and then finished with a burst of full speed. "That's... actually not bad," he admitted.

"I'm surprised one of them didn't fall," Castiel said.

"Oh, I am, too. But it was interesting to watch."

Castiel gave him an unamused look. "Let's just go and talk to them. With the endorphins, they'll probably answer anything you ask them right now."

"And who says I want to ask either of those wannabe-cowboys anything?"

"Your article. Interviewing them will make it better. You can't just observe them. And besides, didn't Crowley specifically ask for the twins?"

Castiel was still right, and Balthazar still hated it. Reluctantly, he headed down the slight hill toward the enclosure, and behind him, he heard the clicking of a camera shutter. When he looked back, Castiel had his camera pointed down, over Balthazar's shoulder. Toward Dean. "I don't think he's really part of the piece, is he?" Balthazar asked with a hint of a smile.

Castiel lowered his camera, not even bothering to look sheepish. "Candids generally turn out to be the best photographs. When people aren't posing, they're fully themselves."

Balthazar got the immediate feeling that Castiel was judging him. Maybe it was for good reason, though—he caught himself putting up a façade of nonchalance with most people. Even Bela, who was supposed to be the person closest to him. In fact, maybe the only time he was ever really himself was when he was well and truly pissed off about something—that was the only time the cracks in his snarky armor showed through.

But Castiel didn't say anything more about it, so he let it go and continued on toward the rest of the Cohen household.

By the time they got to the enclosure and dismounted, the twins were climbing back onto their own horses. Nick noticed their approach and grinned at them, halfway into his saddle. Balthazar hated to admit it, but it was a pretty nice view of his ass. "Like the angle? I'm sure the photos will be great," he said, looking right at Balthazar.

_You bastard._ "Cas is the photographer, not me." Nick could probably sense the attraction and he wasn't doing anything to discourage it. Balthazar had never been so attracted to someone he hated so much.

"Mental photos," Nick quipped. He threw his other leg over the horse's back and trotted off with Michael to the starting point. Balthazar turned to Castiel, intending to say, "Can you believe this bastard?"

But Castiel hadn't appeared to notice the exchange. Dean had wandered over, and they were absorbed in another intense discussion. Balthazar was left to seethe as Nick and Michael began the routine again. He felt his anger melting away while he watched, and even though he tried to hold onto it, it was hard not to be impressed with the twins. Whether consciously or not, they moved perfectly in sync. They didn't even have to look at each other to know when the other started to get ready for the switch.

Up close, it looked even more dangerous than it had from afar. It didn't help that they were going a little faster this time, either. He had no idea how they balanced on their saddles in those ridiculous boots, but they did, glanced at each other, and jumped.

He heard a startled yell, a pair of arms flailing in midair for a moment, and then Michael hit the ground with a thud. Nick was next, leaping backwards, clear of Seraph. When he hit, it was controlled, and he rolled and bounced back to his feet—it had been intentional. "Mikey!"

Michael sat up, blinking dizzily and cradling his left arm. In a moment, Chuck and Rachel joined Nick at his side. Their voices carried enough for Balthazar to figure out what was going on.

"You okay? You hit your head?" Chuck asked.

Michael shook his head. "Just my arm. I landed on it funny, but I don't think it's broken."

Rachel crouched in front of him, drew a flashlight from her pocket, held open his eyelids, and shone the light in his eyes. "Normal contraction there, an' your pupils are the same size." She put away the flashlight and held up three fingers. "How many fingers?"

"Three. I don't got a concussion. I know what they feel like. It just feels like a sprained wrist or somethin'. I'm fine."

Rachel gently bent and twisted his wrist. "Not even sprained, you big baby. You're supposed to tuck when you fall, Mike."

"I had less than a second, Rach. I did the best I could." He sighed. "Okay, that's enough practice for the mornin'. Not that that wasn't terribly excitin' or anythin', but I need a minute."

"Daddy?"

Michael turned around and waved at Inias. "C'mere, kiddo."

Inias climbed between the horizontal posts and scurried to his father. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I'm probably gonna have a huge bruise on my butt, though."

Inias giggled and threw his arms around Michael.

"Alright, I'm ready for lunch. That's more than enough excitement for one mornin'." Still holding his son, Michael got to his feet.

"Yeah, I'll co-sign on that," Nick said. "Not sayin' you had me worried or anythin', but you're not supposed to fall."

Michael rolled his eyes, grinning, as he started toward the entrance of the paddock. "I'm so sure you weren't worried, little bro. You get worked up about the littlest things."

"Is he going to be okay?" Castiel asked Dean quietly.

"Sure. Both a' them have survived way worse falls 'n that. That was like a scratch."

"So they're not going to scrap the whole thing?" Balthazar asked.

Dean gave him a curious look. "No, why would they?"

"He could have gotten hurt. He could have been killed."

"It's a sports injury. They happen all the time—baseball, football, hockey, basketball, soccer. You could die playin' _any_ sport. An' true, it's more likely in a rodeo, but they know that full well when they start competin'. They fill out waivers for a reason. They don't have any illusions about how dangerous this kind a' thing is."

Balthazar saw his point, but he didn't like it. Still, he was hungry, so after he and Castiel followed Anna's instruction to bring their horses over to be fed and watered, they joined the rest of the family heading up to The Big House for lunch.

He supposed it didn't really affect him in any way, though. They weren't his family. They were just people he was living with for a few months in order to complete an assignment. Rodeo _was_ dangerous, but they were adults who could make their own decisions, even if both of them had kids and Michael had a wife. What if one of them died? Especially Nick—it didn't seem like his daughter's mother was really in the picture, so if something happened to him, what would come of his daughter? It was true enough that Chuck would probably take care of her, and he didn't doubt that Michael and Rachel would probably step in as parental figures, but if her father, her real father, died, he wondered if June would be as keen on rodeo.

But the twins had lasted this long without sustaining serious injury, so maybe his worry wasn't entirely justified. And again, it didn't affect him. They weren't his family.

Contenting himself with that thought, he grabbed a plate in the kitchen had helped himself to the cold cuts that Ellen had prepared for lunch.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I backstory. Also I got Chuck's grandkids calling him "Granddad" from my own dad. He wants all of my nieces and nephews to call him Granddad. It's some kind of alcohol reference.

"So how long have you and your family been involved with the whole rodeo thing?"

Chuck settled back in his chair, his left ankle resting on his right knee, and thought for a moment. He appeared entirely oblivious to the pictures Castiel was taking, punctuating the air every minute or so. Balthazar already knew the answer to the question he'd asked, but he wanted to see if Chuck would give him any new facts or history. He found that, unless someone was intensely private, they tended to spill quite a bit of information in interviews.

He was pretty sure Chuck had some stories he'd be willing to share.

"Well, I started competin' about forty years ago, when I was fourteen, but Hester, my wife, started ridin' long before me—when she was eight." He chuckled and glanced down for a moment. "She was the reason I started competin' in the first place. My parents thought I was an idiot, but I had such a crush on her in high school. I knew some people who knew her, an' they told me about all the races an' things she'd won in rodeos, an' I... well, I barely knew how to ride a horse, but I figured it out quick enough. I was desperate to impress her.

"So, naturally, the first time I ever competed, I fell on my ass in front of everyone. I was embarrassed, but she found me afterward an' told me what I'd done wrong an' offered to help me. She taught me a lot an' we became pretty much inseparable after that. We started datin' our senior year a' high school an' we got married five years after we graduated. We kept competin' together until about 1987, when we found out she was pregnant. She stopped ridin' until the twins were born, but by then, with what we won, we were able to take care a' them pretty well." He sighed. "Hester died early in 1990, shortly after the twins turned two. I quit ridin' an' competin' to focus on them, an' that was when I realized that they were actually pretty talented for a couple a' toddlers."

"So you got them into competing?" Balthazar guessed.

"Well, Hester an' I talked about it early on, about if we were gonna let them race when they got old enough, an' we finally decided that the choice should be theirs, once they were old enough. If they wanted to ride, they could, an' if they didn't want to, they didn't have to. But they wanted to, so I got them a couple a' ponies an' taught them the basics, an' by the time they were in kindergarten, they could give a kid twice their a run for their money. So I started enterin' them in the kids' competitions an' they won easily, an' as they got older, they started winnin' more an' more. An' I figured out that most of those kids, they got bright futures, but somethin' always stopped them from followin' their dreams an' the kid stars almost never become adult stars. My boys are the exception—I've never held them back from doing what they love. So, to return to the original question, as a family, we've been involved for about twenty-two years."

"And what about your parents?"

"They visit, but they live in San Antonio, so it's a bit of a drive for them. If there's a competition down there, we'll go ahead an' visit them, but we pretty much only see them once or twice a year."

"And the children? June and Inias?"

Chuck shrugged. "I'm their granddad, not their dad. I leave them to their parents unless they ask for my advice. It's not my job to parent those kids—it's my job to spoil them rotten. An' trust me, I do," he added with a laugh. "I mean, I have no reason to believe that my sons will take away their kids' right to choose—June loves competin' already, an' Inias is gettin' really good with his balance an' coordination, but he's only three, so it'll be awhile before he's ready to join his cousin. I certainly encourage them to decide for themselves, but in the end, it's really not my choice." He brushed a bit of dirt off his boot. "Nick kept June out of a race once. He had a bad feeling about it. Turned out to be a good thing, because another kid broke her arm."

* * *

 

"You've been doing this for twenty-two years. Have you ever wanted to do anything else?"

Michael grinned as though the very thought were absurd. "Not really. I mean, I guess like, when I was eight or nine, I wanted to be a vet, but... I don't know. I learned how much school it would take an' how much time, an' I didn't like the idea. An' when I was in high school, I played football an' I considered goin' to college an' playin' football there, see about maybe getting picked up to play professionally." He laughed and spread his arms. "Can you imagine me as a linebacker?"

Balthazar had to admit that he couldn't. He shook his head. "Not particularly."

"Yeah, me neither. The truth is, the only thing I was ever really very good at was ridin'. It doesn't take a whole lotta skill to run down guys an' knock 'em to the ground, but rodeo..." Michael half-smiled. "Hell, I could practice for another twenty years an' still not be at the level I wanna be. But that's what keeps me goin', the pursuit a' that ideal. Probably never gonna happen, but I like tryin'."

"And your family is incredibly supportive. I'm sure that helps."

Michael nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced briefly at Castiel, who was snapping a few pictures of him in profile. "It does. I'm really lucky. With my dad, gettin' into it at a really young age, an' my mom influencin' us even if we didn't know it, yeah. If it weren't for them, I can't imagine what we'd be doin' right now. An' of course, a lot of our dynamic when we started out was the fact that me an'—an' Nick, we're twins, so people thought that was cool, an' then they saw how good we were. So I owe a lot to him, too."

"And Rachel and Inias?"

Michael smiled. His eyes flicked momentarily to the mantel above the fireplace, to a picture Balthazar had glanced at earlier. It was Michael and Rachel on their wedding day, Michael in his tuxedo with his bow tie undone and Rachel visibly pregnant beneath her wedding dress. Both of them were smiling, and it was obvious how in-love they'd been at the time. From what Balthazar could tell, they still were.

"I know it ain't true, but I feel like I'd be nothin' without them. It's funny—I met Rachel at a rodeo out in Tulsa, an' I thought she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. She beat my barrel racing time by about five seconds, which was embarrassin', but I was more impressed than anythin'. I asked her out to dinner an' she said yes. We dated for a year an' a half, doin' that long-distance thing since she was from Dallas. An' then one day, outta the blue, she calls me an' tells me she's pregnant. Well, _that_ was... it was a shock, I guess, but I think the more surprisin' thing was that the first thing I felt was happy. I wasn't scared or anythin', not right away—that came later." Michael chuckled. "So I asked her where she was an' she was at home in Dallas, so I told her I'd talk to her in a few hours, an' after I hung up with her, I grabbed one a' the trucks an' drove for hours until I got to her house. She was _real_ shocked to see me, an' so were her parents, but I proposed to her right out there on her front porch." A small half-smile crossed his face as he looked down at his left hand, at his wedding ring. Balthazar could tell he was caught up in that memory. "She said yes, of course, an' she threw some of her clothes in a suitcase an' came back with me to Tulsa. Then I had to tell my dad what was goin' on."

"You just took off for Dallas without telling him why?"

Michael shrugged, grinning. "He knew somethin' was up, but he didn't ask. I just told him I had to go an' I'd be back in a few days. He accepted it."

"But then to tell him you were getting married..."

"Honestly, after Nick, I wasn't too worried about what my dad would say. He liked Rachel, an' he never liked Eve."

"Eve?"

"Nick's... June's mother."

Balthazar found himself curious in spite of himself. "What happened there?"

Michael shook his head. "Ain't my place. Ask him yourself. If he wants you to know, he'll tell you."

Balthazar cleared his throat and nodded. "Fair enough. So, back to Rachel."

"Right. Well, we got back home about two an' a half, three days after I left, an' Dad was real surprised to see Rachel with me, but I told him, 'She's pregnant an' we talked about it an' we want to get married.' An' since my dad liked her, he was fine with it, an' we started plannin' it. As you can tell from the picture, we got it done with a quickness. We wanted to get married before the baby was born because a' the mess Nick got in with June an' everythin'—an' no, I'm not explainin' that, either. But it came together really well, an' I don't regret a thing."

"And Inias is learning to ride now?"

Michael nodded. "All things considered, he's third-generation rodeo. Both a' my parents, Rachel's mom, Rachel, me... Honestly, I'm not surprised he took to it so fast—an' he did. He loves it. Although I don't think he's so much into competin' as he is just hangin' out with the animals, but that's fine. If he ends up bein' our animal doctor, no one's gonna call that a waste."

"I'd hope not. And what if he decides he doesn't want anything to do with it at all?"

Michael blinked in surprise. "Well, one a' the things my dad convinced me of when I was growin' up was that my life was my own, an' at the end a' the day, I had to be able to live with myself. I'm not gonna deny my own son that, either. So if he wants to do somethin' completely separate from all this, no one's gonna try to talk him out of it. Besides, rodeo's dangerous. Half the time, I think we're crazy for stayin' in this long." He waved his arm, showing off the wrist he'd fallen on a few hours ago. "I coulda broken my damn arm," he laughed, "but here I am, about to climb back on another horse. There's gotta be somethin' wrong with me."

* * *

 

"You were involved with rodeos long before you met Michael, right?"

Rachel nodded. "That was how we met."

"So what got you started?"

"Honestly, it was my mom. She loved it, an' when I was growin' up, I practiced at the stables a few miles away from school. She stopped ridin' professionally just before I was born, but she always missed it. So I decided I wanted to give it a try. She didn't want me to at first, an' neither did my dad. My mom broke... shoot, I think it was like, four ribs, both arms, her leg, her wrist, her ankle, an' she sustained two concussions. Not all at once, obviously, but she definitely earned her stripes. She didn't want me injured so much, an' my dad flat-out forbade it. After I turned eighteen, though, they couldn't legally stop me, an' so they came to my first rodeo. After that, after they saw how good I was, they finally decided they were gonna leave it completely up to me. That was a great feelin'."

"Do you still compete?"

"Sometimes, when I feel like it. Don't get me wrong, I was great at it an' I liked it. I just don't have the passion for it that my mom did or that Mike an' Nick do, the kind a' passion that makes you wanna enter a competition even if your ears are still ringin' from a concussion from the last one. I guess I have a better sense of self-preservation than they do," she added with a smile. "Besides, we don't really wanna monopolize everythin'."

"Do you ever worry about Michael when he competes?"

She sighed. "I'd be remiss if I didn't. There's always the chance that somethin' could go wrong in these things. I know that as well as anyone else. But he hasn't been hurt permanently yet, which is statistically a miracle."

* * *

 

Dean stuck his head in the living room, which Balthazar and Castiel had transformed into a makeshift interview studio. "Hey, Taz. The airline found your bag. I'm gonna go pick it up an' drop it off in your room, okay?"

Balthazar glanced up from his notes. "Yeah, sure. That's great. Thank you," he added.

Dean grinned. "No problem." Just before he left, Balthazar was pretty sure he saw him wink at Castiel.

"You seem to be making friends, at least," Balthazar said.

Castiel looked at him unapologetically. "He's polite."

"He wants to get in your pants."

"Is that a problem?"

"You're a big boy. You do what you want. Just remember, we're just north of one of the most conservative states in the country. I'm not convinced the Cohens will be too thrilled if you start fucking one of their male employees."

"Speaking of Cohens, we still have one left to talk to. And since you even talked to Rachel, if you don't talk to Nick, it will be incredibly conspicuous."

Balthazar rolled his eyes. "Fine," he muttered. "Send the bastard in."

Castiel shot him a warning glance and went to the hallway. "Nick, we're ready for you."

A moment later, three steps behind Castiel, Nick strolled in and dropped right into the armchair that everyone else in his family had sat in. Balthazar really didn't want to do this—actually, he did, just without Castiel around. Interviews tended to be personal depending on the person being interviewed and what they were discussing, but Balthazar had a feeling this would be incredibly intimate. After all, Nick's intensely blue eyes were focused right on him and Balthazar didn't think he'd blinked once.

Besides that, he didn't want Castiel to figure out what was going on, either. It was better if he thought Balthazar hated Nick just because. If he realized it was because Balthazar was _attracted_ to him...

"So, Nick—"

"Lu."

Balthazar blinked. "What?"

"My name, it's not really Nick. It's just like a stage name. My real name is Lucifer, but I go by Lu."

Balthazar thought he was fucking with him for a moment, but there wasn't even the hint of a smile on his face. _He's serious._ "Michael and Lucifer?"

The smile finally appeared. "Yeah. My parents have a weird sense a' humor."

"No arguments there. Alright, _Lu_. What's it like to compete with your brother?"

Lu leaned forward in the chair. "Well, when he's my partner, it's great. Everythin' just kinda flows. We know where the other is gonna be without worryin' about it or thinkin' twice. Never had any problems with that. But when I'm competin' against him, I wanna kick his ass," he said with a laugh. "It's a perpetual game a' one-upmanship, which is great because we're so evenly matched. I'm a little taller than him an' better lookin', though, so I think I'll always come out ahead."

_Oh, fuck you._ "And your daughter races, too, correct?"

"Yeah, she loves it. She's gonna be competin' in Dallas next week along with me an' Mikey. She's really lookin' forward to it—if I told her she couldn't, it'd break her heart."

"Was her mother into the rodeo scene as well?"

The cool, relaxed look melted off Lu's face and something behind his eyes hardened. "No," he said quietly. "She hated it, actually."

"So how did you meet her, then?" He could do the math—the twins were twenty-eight, and June was nine. Nick and Eve had had her young. He sensed the story and was intensely curious again—although whether out of journalistic interest or personal interest, he wasn't sure.

"Odd question for a sports magazine."

"Biographical details for the background. Probably won't even be used, but just in case." _Smooth, Roché._

"I'll tell you the whole story. Off the record, though. I don't want it used at all."

Balthazar turned off his tape recorder and closed his notebook. "Fine. Off the record."


	7. Chapter 7

"Me an' Mike, we both had this phase just after high school where we had to get the fuck outta Tulsa for a little while. Somethin' like we reached a crossroads in our lives. We talked about it for awhile before we graduated an' we decided that Mike would leave first—if we left at the same time, we figured it might kill Dad. So the day after graduation, Mike lit out for Houston. I think he made it all the way to New Mexico for a little while. I got no idea what he did when he was gone—he never told me an' I think it's somethin' he wants to forget—but come September, he came back lookin' a little pale but pretty normal besides that. An' the next day, I left. Dad knew as soon as he saw Mikey's truck comin' up that drive that I was gone, an' I knew he hated Mikey leavin', but he didn't tell me not to go or anythin'. He just told me to come back alive.

"Mikey went south. I went north. In two weeks, I drove from Tulsa to Sioux Falls. I thought about seein' Canada for a bit, but I didn't have my passport on me, so I knew that wouldn't pan out. I met Eve there in Sioux Falls. She... fuck, I still don't really know what happened. We were complete opposites—me from Oklahoma, raised a proper Southern gentleman, really into the whole rodeo thing, an' her from South Dakota, raised by a single mom whose idea a' proper parentin' was settin' a kid in front of a TV for hours... She hated rodeos an' country music an' the whole culture. She wore a lotta leather an' played drums in a rock band an' got into bar fights, even at nineteen, twenty. Never met anyone like her around here. She'd met plenty like me, though. She liked that I wasn't from South Dakota, though, which was about the only thing I had goin' for me. I guess it was enough for her, though, 'cause we started datin'. I told her all about my life down here an' about the ranch an' everythin', an' I met her mom an' stepdad—I hated them, by the way. They were complete assholes. An' considerin' they were part a' the whole white-trash thing, I'm not surprised she hated them an' the whole country culture. Anyway, I liked her well enough—at least, I didn't hate her—but the relationship wasn't goin' anywhere, so by the time December rolled around, I was homesick for my dad an' my brother, so I broke it off with her an' was back home by our birthday, an' for the next fifteen months, I figured that was it.

"Then one day, this red Honda comes peelin' up our drive. It took me a minute to recognize Eve's car, but sure as shit, those were South Dakota plates an' I knew it was her. I told Dad an' Mikey that it was a girl I'd met in South Dakota but I didn't tell them the whole story, not at the time, an' then I went out to find out what the hell she was doin' here. I mean, she'd always talked about gettin' out of South Dakota, so I figured maybe that was all it was, her just tryin' to get away from home. I'd told her I lived on a ranch in Oklahoma, after all. She'd probably just Googled for directions. So I went down to where she'd parked an' she got outta the car an' said, 'There's a surprise for you in the back seat.'" Lu fell silent for a moment, closing his eyes, lost in the memory. "I had no idea what to expect, but somehow... a kid never occurred to me. But when I opened that door, there she was in that little car seat a' hers, barely seven months old, an' I just knew she was mine. She looked like me—she had my hair. It was a more blond back then. The time fit, too—sixteen months before, I'd been in South Dakota with Eve, an' I guess three or four weeks before I left, she got pregnant.

"It was... I don't know, a little bit terrifyin' to see her, but even more so to actually hold her. I guess that sounds weird, but if you got kids yourself, you'd understand." Nick paused for a second. "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Have kids?"

"Oh." Something about his gaze nearly made Balthazar squirm. "No," he said, feeling somehow that Nick would be disappointed to hear that. But Balthazar was a lifetime supporter of the Trojan company—he didn't need kids, not ever.

"Well, then, I guess you'll have to take my word for it. So Eve's talkin' about how the baby's name is June Rose an' she's seven months old an' she came down as soon as she scraped together enough money for the trip an' she didn't wanna live with her parents anymore an' she didn't wanna raise June by herself anymore, an' by the time I get June outta the car seat an' into my arms, Dad an' Mikey were there an' they just... I think they could tell, too. It was pretty obvious she was mine. Mikey was completely speechless, but Dad just looks from me to the baby to Eve an' says, 'Come on in for dinner.'

"I can't really describe what went through my head that night. I was scared, sure, but I hadn't intentionally run out on them—I hadn't changed my number after I left Sioux Falls, either, so I knew Eve hadn't tried to call me an' tell me she was pregnant. An' I wanted to be in June's life, so I was hopin' Eve would stay so I could be a real dad. I even told her I'd stop competin' if she stayed, so long as I got to be in my daughter's life. In April, I asked her to marry me, an' she said yes.

"I got this day in May permanently etched in my memory. I remember her sayin' she needed to go into town to get some more formula an' diapers, an' since we were runnin' low, I didn't think anythin' of it. I asked her if she wanted me to go with her an' she said no, she just wanted to spend some time outta the house by herself. So she left. Around dinner time, Dad came in an' asked where Eve was, an' I realized it'd been about six or seven hours since I saw her last, so I thought maybe she'd come in without announcin' it an' just went to take a nap or somethin', so I gathered up June to go wake her up.

"Eve wasn't in there. The ring I gave her was on the bed. There was a note under it, but all it said was _I can't do this._ The drawers she'd kept her clothes in were empty, her half a' the closet... Like that, she was gone." Lu was quiet again. Balthazar wondered what he was remembering now. Twenty-year-old Lu had had his daughter in his arms when he found out his girlfriend was gone—had he cried? Had he looked at his daughter and said, "Well, looks like it's just you an' me now"? Had he held her tight and promised he'd never leave her? Maybe June had cried for her momma for days or weeks afterward before she forgot Eve ever existed and her world had shrunk to Daddy and Uncle Mikey and Granddad.

"Dad, he'd tolerated her because she was June's mom an' was supposed to have been my wife. He never liked her much—I think he kinda resented her for not tellin' me she was pregnant an' just showin' up outta the blue with a seven-month-old strapped in the back a' her car. But he tolerated her. But after I came back down the stairs an' told him an' Mikey that Eve was gone an' we'd probably never see her again, Dad just shook his head an' said, 'That's the best news I've heard in a long time.' I hated him for that for awhile until I realized he was right. She would always get upset about little things, things that I didn't think twice about. She was never very affectionate—June was startin' to crawl right before Eve left, an' once she was movin' around on her own, she would follow me around until I picked her up, which I invariably did. She knew Eve would pick her up only to pass her off to someone else. Hell, Mikey held her more than Eve ever did, at least while she was livin' with us. By the time June's first birthday rolled around in August, we'd all realized we were better off without her."

"Have you spoken to her since then?"

Lu shook his head. "Nothin'. Not a phone call, email, letter, postcard. Nothin'. Not that I can blame her, either—if I were her, I would think my family hated her. Mikey still hasn't forgiven her. I forgave her the day I changed June's last name to Cohen, though. That part was a pain in the ass because she'd been born in South Dakota an' we had to get a lawyer to find her so she could sign off that I was June's father an' her sole legal guardian, but we managed. Never actually spoke to her ourselves, which I think she wanted anyway."

"It must have been hard, raising her by yourself."

"It hasn't been easy, but I think it woulda been a lot more difficult if Eve were still around. Like I said, we're better off without her."

Balthazar had to admit, he certainly saw Lu in a different light now that he knew the story. As he settled back in his own chair, acutely aware of Castiel's inquisitive eyes on both him and Lu, any further, article-related questions were driven from his mind. He was too absorbed in the silence that had fallen at the conclusion of Lu's story, his head spinning as he struggled to digest it all.

Lu didn't seem too eager to break the silence, either. For a long time, the three of them sat there without a word.

* * *

 

A week later, just as Balthazar had fallen into the routine of the ranch, the whole family packed up to begin their exodus to Dallas. It took a full two days to prepare entirely, two days of rigging trucks and trailers, two days of packing and sorting and re-packing. On Thursday, June was kept home from school to pack her own small suitcase, and by noon that same day, the entire household was on the road.

Balthazar finally understood that day why the Cohen family had so many people working for them. With all the trucks they had to bring, they needed every licensed driver they could get. He counted himself lucky that neither he nor Castiel was pressed into service to drive. They did, however, get called on to help pack up the trucks and vans. He never realized how big of a deal it would be to haul thirteen people and four horses to another state, but once he was in the thick of it, the chaos was nearly overwhelming.

Three of the horses were dropped off at a neighbor's ranch an hour or so away to be taken care of for the week they'd be gone. The other four—Seraph, Steel, Jo's Blaze, and June's Thunder—came with them for the competitions. Seraph and Blaze rode in one trailer, driven in alternation by Michael and Rachel (with Inias asleep between them), and Steel and Thunder (who were, appropriately, father and daughter) rode in another driven by Sam and Dean. After Lu and Anna had dropped off their trailers and trucks, they rode with Chuck, Ellen, Jo, June, Balthazar, and Castiel in the large Econoline van along with most of the luggage and everything else they'd need for the week. They rotated drivers as often as they could, with the rearmost seat designated as a makeshift bed for the driver who'd just been relieved. Everyone else seemed to be in rather high spirits. Even Balthazar found himself infected by the air of anticipation that had settled over the entire group. The radio was tuned to one of the many country stations in the area and every time the song changed, someone yelled excitedly, "Turn it up!" even if it was already at a nearly deafening volume, and invariably, at least three people sang along. Balthazar was pretty sure he heard more Alan Jackson songs in those twelve hours than he ever had before in his entire life.

Chuck and Ellen drove the van most often, with Jo or Anna taking over at a gas stop when Chuck and Ellen both said they were too tired to drive for awhile. Nick and June had the first bench seat behind the driver, and whenever June wasn't fast asleep and drooling on her dad's shoulder, she was chattering excitedly about the races and seeing her dad and uncle compete and how Jo was going to win her rounds for sure. Balthazar either sat in the next row with Castiel or, when Castiel was in another vehicle, stretched out to try to get a nap (which failed miserably), letting the talking in the van lull him into a light doze. He sometimes tried to write, but with Anna and Jo in the row behind his, he kept thinking they were looking over his shoulder as he wrote, and he hated that feeling.

Every time they stopped at one of the rest stops along the highway, Castiel got out and switched vehicles. He took a dozen or so pictures in the van, and Balthazar guessed he wanted to try to capture all of the excitement—although he was pretty sure Castiel had ulterior motives for riding in the Winchesters' truck. By now, though, Balthazar was beyond caring. He was too busy focusing on _not_ flirting with Nick, a task that was much easier said than done. It didn't help that Balthazar could swear that Nick was flirting with _him_. It seemed that every other sentence out of Nick's mouth could easily be construed as a flirtation, and Balthazar wondered if it was deliberate. He thought it must be, but no one else reacted, so maybe it was unintentional, an accepted part of his personality.

It was almost a relief when they made it to Dallas after midnight—even though Balthazar hated that he enjoyed Lu's presence, it was nice to check into their hotel and unload the van (Rachel and Dean dropping off Michael, Inias, and Sam so they could drive to the rodeo site and stable the horses up in the barn on the grounds). Even though he'd slept a little in the van, as soon as he was in his room, he dropped his duffel bag on the floor, stripped out of the clothes he traveled in, fell into bed, and was asleep within moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael coming back from his teenage adventure all pale and stuff? Yeah, he got hooked on heroin and spent the last two or three weeks before coming home detoxing. So he was all strung out. He never told his family or anyone really, even Rachel, but it may come up later. Haven't decided.


	8. Chapter 8

"Daddy, I'm worried."

"Yeah? What're you worried about, Bugsy?"

June smiled a little at the nickname, a play on _June Bug_ , but then her face grew serious again. Lu was always amazed at how serious she could look when she wanted to. "It's about tomorrow."

"Don't worry about tomorrow, sweet-pea. You're gonna be great. I mean, you gotta. You're a Cohen, right?"

June shook her head. "That's not what I'm worried about. What if somethin' happens to you or Uncle Mikey or Miss Harvelle? You could get hurt."

"Sunshine, nothin's gonna happen to me or Uncle Mikey or Jo. We're all gonna be just fine. We've been doin' this for how long now?"

June shrugged.

"Since before you were born. Uncle Mike an' I were _raised_ doin' this, just like you. You have nothin' to worry about."

"Promise?"

"Of course." Lu crossed his heart for emphasis. "I promise."

Evidently satisfied, June snuggled down under the covers and pulled her stuffed bear Pretzel to her chest. "I love you, Daddy."

"I love you more, Bugsy." Lu kissed her goodnight and went to turn off the lights. "I'll be back when Aunt Rachel comes back from the grounds, okay?"

"Okay." June rolled over and closed her eyes, and Lu watched her for a moment before slipping out of the hotel room, patting his pockets to be sure he had his room key.

He found Michael in the lobby, his phone pressed to his ear. "Hey, bro."

Michael glanced over at him and held up a finger. "Don't take any bullshit from them, hon. They knew we were bringin' four, one for each rider. The contract should be in the glove box." He paused for a moment. "Found it? Good. Call me back if they try to argue again." A smile crossed his face. "He's passed the fuck out right now, but he'll probably wake up when you get back. Yeah. Love you. See you later." He hung up and pocketed his phone. "What's up?"

"Not much. Inias is asleep already? I'm impressed."

"Yeah, well, it was a long day. An' Dad's with him. Swear to God, that man has endless patience."

"Not surprisin'. He raised us, remember? We were little assholes."

Michael laughed. "True enough. June asleep?"

"Yeah. She didn't want to at first. Worried about you, me, an' Jo."

"About _us_?"

"Yeah. Couldn't care less about her own performance tomorrow."

"Huh." Michael shrugged. "Kids bounce back from injuries like that, though. Maybe she knows it already. Besides, you're her rock. An' me? I'm yours," he joked.

"You wish," Lu shot back, and a moment later, the two of them were gearing up for a world-class wrestling match. Only a sharp look from the concierge prevented a full-out battle.

They were both used to the long nights when they were on the road. It was always like this—the first night was invariably nearly sleepless, waiting for the two short straws to drop off the horses and come back, and no matter who went, someone always stayed up to wait. Lu didn't doubt that Sam was lurking in some corner, waiting for his own brother to come back.

Everyone else was settled in their rooms, but aside from June and Inias, he was pretty sure no one was sleeping. Well, maybe their dad and Ellen, and possibly Taz and Cas, but Jo and Anna definitely weren't. Tomorrow wouldn't be much different either. After every day of competition, there was always something to celebrate—or lament. They almost always went out to party.

Tomorrow would definitely be interesting. Lu would have to watch his drinking around Taz if he didn't want to do something stupid.

* * *

 

Balthazar was woken up by a sharp knock on his door. For a few moments, he was so disoriented that he'd forgotten where he was—it almost felt like he was back in Los Angeles in his own flat. But then he realized the bed wasn't big enough—when you've slept in a California king, any other bed felt far too small—and Bela wasn't in it. Then the past few weeks came rushing back, and he suddenly remembered he was at a hotel in Dallas.

_Bollocks_ , he thought, finally stirring.

The knock came again, and Balthazar rolled out of bed and slunk to the door. Castiel was on the other side, already dressed and well put-together, considering he was dressing for a rodeo. Balthazar opened the door a crack—he was completely naked, after all, and didn't really want the whole world looking at his junk—and poked his head out. "Now what?"

"You've got another twenty minutes to make it to breakfast. Also..." Castiel held out a flannel shirt, similar to the one he wore. "It'll help you blend in."

"Bloody hell." Balthazar reached out and snatched the shirt, glaring at him. "I don't need to _blend in_. Don't you think my bloody voice will give it away?"

Castiel shrugged. "It's not like you'll be talking to everyone. Dean says we're leaving for the rodeo at ten-thirty."

Balthazar nodded and then grinned. "Did you happen to room with Dean last night?"

Castiel turned red, but he shook his head. "No. He shared a room with Sam."

"A shame. Perhaps he'll pay a visit tonight."

" _Stay out of it_ ," Castiel growled, and the sound of it raised the hair on Balthazar's arms, but he just grinned again.

"No promises," he said cheerfully, and then slammed the door in Castiel's face.

The small conference room, where the remainder of the continental breakfast was, was close to empty. The only person he knew in the room was Rachel, who was sitting at one of the corner tables with a paper cup of coffee in her hands. She stared vacantly up at the television, oblivious to it and everything around her. A half-eaten bagel sat in front of her.

Balthazar put a waffle and a blueberry muffin on a paper plate and filled another cup with black tea. He was rather surprised to discover such a touch down here in Texas, but he wasn't about to complain. He brought his food to where Rachel sat, and that seemed to snap her out of her reverie. "Long night?" Balthazar guessed.

Rachel blinked, and then nodded. "Yeah, little bit. Those assholes at the grounds took some fightin' with." She grinned suddenly. "But I fixed 'em good."

Balthazar grinned back. He had no idea what she was talking about, but he didn't doubt that she could be formidable when she put her mind to it. "When did you get back in?"

"Around two." She yawned and took a halfhearted sip of coffee. Balthazar imagined it was rather cold by now.

"Did you sleep at all?"

"Of course I did. Mike an' Nick waited up 'til I got back an' Mike made sure I went right to sleep. Not that I coulda done much else. God, I'm exhausted. So glad I'm not ridin' at all on this trip."

"Why aren't you?"

"Hmm? Oh, I just don't feel like it. I haven't really been practicin' the last couple a' months. Got other stuff to worry about."

"So who's riding today?"

Rachel yawned again. "Everyone. June's up first—they get the kids' races outta the way early in the day. Mike an' Nick are after her, an' Jo's ridin' last. There'll be a few more events tomorrow, but today's the only day everyone'll be ridin'. I think Mike an' Nick are ridin' every day."

"He told me about his real name," Balthazar said quietly. "That he's named Lucifer."

Rachel blinked and cocked her head to the side. "Really? He doesn't share that with just anyone." She nodded to herself. "Well, all for the better. I hate callin' him Nick at home. It's just his road name. Everyone important knows the truth. An' honestly, it kinda fits. The two a' them fight sometimes, but they wouldn't be anywhere without the other." She rubbed her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair. "What about your name? I highly doubt it says 'Taz' on your birth certificate."

"It doesn't," Balthazar confessed. "Nor does Cas's say 'Cas' on it. Both our names are rather unusual."

"So what are they?"

Before Balthazar had a chance to answer, the door to the conference room opened and Chuck's voice floated over. "Rach, Taz, we're about to take off. Care to join us?" There was a hint of teasing in his voice, but Balthazar scarfed down the other half of his waffle anyway and picked up the tea and muffin to go. Just as well—he wasn't sure how well "Balthazar" would go over with the Cohens. Although considering that Chuck had named his sons after the General of Archangels and the Prince of Hell, maybe his own name wouldn't be so difficult to swallow.

* * *

 

Now that there were no horses to drive around, the entire party piled into the van for the trip to the rodeo grounds. Once again, Chuck drove with Ellen riding shotgun, but this time, Michael, Inias, and Rachel piled into the front row behind them. Rachel still looked exhausted, but she somehow managed to keep her eyes open. Behind them, June and her father chatted animatedly—Balthazar fought to keep his eyes off them. Sam, Dean, and Castiel commandeered the third row. Dean and Castiel seemed a little close, but if anyone else noticed it, they didn't say anything. Anna and Jo were in the last seat next to Balthazar. They both had their feet kicked up on the bench, Anna sideways with her arms on the backs of the seat she was on and the one in front of her, Jo curled right up next to her. Anna's fingers ran through Jo's hair, and the blonde smiled contentedly.

Balthazar only had a few minutes to observe, though. As it turned out, they were barely three miles from the grounds. Chuck parked, and the whole group dumped out onto the pavement. Balthazar imagined it looked rather like a clown car, although it _was_ a van, so it would naturally hold a lot of people.

He felt conspicuous in the borrowed flannel shirt, but considering that everyone else in the group was also wearing at least either plaid or flannel, he actually blended in. It definitely wasn't his first choice for fashion, but his only concession to his favored style was to keep the top four buttons undone. In his opinion, shirts looked better _off_ him.

Everyone seemed to know where to go from here, so he followed his party to an entrance labeled _COMPETITORS_. "Registration's this way," Chuck explained as they walked. "They gotta sign a stack a' papers an' pay their entrance fee."

"How much is that, usually?"

"Fifty for kids, hundred for adults."

_Three hundred and fifty dollars for something that could kill them._ "They pay their own way? The adults, I mean. I doubt June has fifty dollars floating around," Balthazar added with a small smile.

"Nah, I cover the boys anyway since it's all comin' from the same place, an' when any a' the employees wanna ride, I cover them, too. Only fair, considerin' all the work they do. It's not a problem, either," Chuck said. "We don't really have to worry about money right now."

Balthazar wasn't really surprised by that.

They'd just barely gotten under the tent when a voice cut through the hubbub. "Cohens! You're here!" A man with dark hair and eyes hurried over to them with a huge grin on his face. He hugged Lu tightly, and for a second or two longer than socially acceptable. "Nicky! Good to see you!"

_Nicky?_ Balthazar nearly gagged. He hated the small stab of jealousy he felt.

Lu grinned back, either not noticing the prolonged embrace or not caring.

_If I didn't know any better..._

Then the man was hugging Michael and Rachel and Chuck, and those were normal hugs, not like that little moment with Lu.

_I'd say they were fucking._

"You guys get in last night?"

"Yeah, sent in the cavalry to drop off the horses," Chuck said.

"How was the drive?"

"Too fuckin' long," Lu said, then seemed to remember his daughter was standing right next to him. He sheepishly glanced at her. "You didn't hear that."

"Hear what?"

The other man laughed. "Hey, Junie, good to see you. You ridin' today?"

June nodded proudly. "Yep! I'm gonna win, too!"

"Well, considerin' your dad an' the rest a' your family, I would be extremely surprised if you didn't."

Another voice cut through the air, loud and steady."RAPHAEL DEMORE MOSELEY! YOU BRING THOSE FINE PEOPLE OVER HERE!"

The man flinched and rubbed the back of his head. "An' you remember my mother," he muttered. He glanced at Balthazar and Castiel. "Please don't call me Raphael. I'm just 'Ray' around here."

In the grand scheme of things, "Raphael" was a far better name than "Balthazar," but he wasn't about to contradict the guy. "I'm Taz," he said, and Ray grinned and shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Taz." He turned to Castiel. "An' you are?"

"Cas Collins." Castiel shook his hand, too.

"Nice to meet you, Cas. So what are y'all folks doin' with this bunch a' misfits?" Ray asked, with a deliberate grin at the Cohens.

"We're from a magazine. We're hanging out with them for awhile for a few articles. He's my photographer."

"Great. I'm sure you'll manage to dig up quite a few skeletons while you're wanderin' around with them. They're good people, though."

"Your mother—" Chuck started, but he was cut off by the mother in question.

"RAPHAEL!"

"Comin, Ma!" Ray grinned sheepishly at them. "You heard the lady. It's been awhile since the last time she saw you. I'm sure y'all got lots a' catchin' up to do."

Balthazar got the distinct impression she wasn't the only one who had a Cohen or two to catch up with.

"We're real good friends with the Moseleys," Chuck explained as they wandered through the tent. "They run the rodeos in Dallas."

"You make it sound like we're some kind a' dynasty or somethin'," Ray teased. "We're nothin' compared to the great Tulsa Cohens."

"Don't be so modest, Ray. You got a good thing goin' here."

"True." Ray shrugged. "It's me, my mom, an' my sister. We don't have quite the entourage that these country folk have, but we do alright. It's an honor to be able to do what I love every day."

"An' we definitely agree there," Chuck said. They stopped in front of a rickety table where two women sat, both with Raphael's dark complexions. "Ms. Moseley, it's great to see you again," Chuck said, and the older of the two women stood up, holding out her arms.

"Chuck, get your ass over here an' give me a proper hug."

"Of course, Missouri." He gave her a tight hug, and then turned to Balthazar and Castiel, one arm still thrown around her shoulders. "Taz, Cas, this is Missouri Moseley, the grand matriarch a' Moseley Rodeo Management. You've met Ray Moseley, an' this is Missouri's daughter Rochelle. Moseleys, this is Taz Roché an' Cas Collins, reporters from _National Sporting_ in Los Angeles."

"Welcome to Dallas," Rochelle said, shaking their hands. Balthazar was grateful to not be hugged. "I hope you enjoy your stay."

"Have you registered yet?" Missouri asked.

"Didn't get a chance. Ray here intercepted us before we could get to the table. It's a bit of a mess over there."

"That is very true. Should clear up in a few minutes. Who do you got ridin' this time?"

"Mike an' Nick, naturally. Jo Harvelle as well, an' there was someone else, too. Who was that again?"

Balthazar glanced at Chuck just in time to see a small, mischievous grin cross his face. Suddenly, he could see the resemblance Chuck's sons had to their father. Next to Nick, June was bouncing on her feet while trying to maintain her composure, and Nick was grinning, too. "Gee, Dad, I don't know. Maybe we didn't have anyone else."

"Daddy!" June stage-whispered, tugging on Nick's hand.

"Mike? Anything?"

Michael picked up on the act, too. "I think Nick's right, Dad. Pretty sure it was just the three of us."

June evidently couldn't stand it any longer. "Me! I'm competin' today, too! An' I should be up first!"

"Of course, _that's_ who I forgot!" Chuck smiled and ruffled his granddaughter's hair. "June's been talkin' about ridin' nonstop for the last month or so. She's real excited."

"Well, of course she is," Missouri said, smiling down at June. "And I'm sure she's gonna do just fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lu and Ray were a thing for awhile. It's complicated now.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely irrelevant to anything that goes on in this chapter, but I decided that instead of one character death at the end of this story, there will be two (the second is a minor character though so I doubt anyone will be too upset). Also I should have researched rodeo events earlier because all the bullshit I had Lu and Michael doing at the beginning doesn't make sense anymore omg I suck >_

There must have been something seriously wrong with him—or the excitement was infectious—because part of him was actually looking forward to seeing the events. He'd never seen a barrel race or any other type of rodeo event before, and up until now, he'd thought he would never be interested, but something was making him greatly anticipate seeing the Cohens compete. And it wasn't just the prospect of seeing Lu compete that had his heart beating a little faster, because he found himself fiercely biased toward June, too. It was odd.

After the group registered, Chuck led them into the stands to find their seats. It wasn't until they sat down that Balthazar looked around and noticed a few of their number were missing. Lu, Mike, June, and Jo were nowhere to be seen. "Where did—?" he started, but Ellen was already a step ahead of him.

"The actual riders have to wait away from us. They'll be out to join us after they're finished with their rides, but for now, they're sequestered away from us." She practically had to shout to be heard over the cheering that suddenly escalated, and a moment later, Balthazar saw why. Rochelle Moseley was strolling out into the arena with a microphone, dressed like everyone else—Western-stype shirt and jeans with cowboy boots and a hat.

"Good morning, everyone, and welcome to the Dallas Semi-Annual Rodeo! Our competitors have been working really hard to get ready for this, but before we get started, we have a few safety procedures to go over. First, in the event of a fire or other disaster, please calmly procede out of the exits and into the parking lots, as far away from the stands as possible. If a rider falls, please stay in your seats—we have medical professionals on standby, just in case. If anyone feels faint or ill, please see one of our first-aid professionals with the white bands on their arms. They're walking around the perimeter of the stands and out on the floors.

"Thank you for your attention, and now, ladies and gentlemen, please rise and remove your hats for the National Anthem."

Balthazar was really grateful he wasn't actually wearing a hat, although just about everyone else in the stands was. The American National Anthem began blaring over the loudspeakers, and no matter how many times he went to a sporting event and heard it, he never quite learned the words or the melody. At first, it made him feel like an asshole, but he was still technically a French citizen and he doubted any of these people knew "La Marseillaise" anyway.

The first events were the children's barrel racing. It went in age brackets, and June was in the second bracket, so they had to wait close to forty-five minutes before she finally appeared.

As soon as she swung her leg over the saddle strapped to Thunder's back, the song playing over the loudspeakers changed from the usual country songs to something decidedly more rock, and Balthazar had to grin.

_"I can move mountains,_

_I can work a miracle, work a miracle,_

_Oh-oh, keep you like an oath,_

_Ain't nothin' like death do us part."_

June seemed very smug about this, and dug her heels into Thunder's sides. Horse and rider took off toward the first barrel. Maybe it was his imagination, but June seemed to have a huge grin splashed across her face—but, no, when he glanced up at the huge screen against one wall, the camera was right on her, and she _was_ grinning, and the resemblance between June had her father was uncanny. She rounded the first barrel and kept going, hooves pounding in the dirt toward the second.

He tore his gaze away long enough to glance at the others in the Cohen party. Chuck's eyes were glued to his granddaughter, he and Ellen gripping each other's hands so hard that their knuckles were white. Anna leaned so far forward that Balthazar was surprised that she didn't pitch into the row in front of them—but then he saw that Sam had a hand on the waistband of her jeans, anchoring her in place. Rachel held Inias tightly to her chest, both of them staring with their mouths open.

June rounded the third barrel and shot back toward the gate, still grinning and holding her hat on her head with one hand. The whole run seemed to Balthazar to have only been seconds, ten or fifteen at the most, but the time up on the scoreboard attested that it had been 46.72 seconds—the fastest time yet.

"That was amazing!" Dean crowed. Chuck and Ellen threw their arms around each other and practically danced. Balthazar had to admit that he was pretty impressed, too. Some of those horses had been fast, but June's Thunder had been just a bit faster. But of course, a fast horse was nothing without a skilled rider, and that was even more impressive. June was only _nine_ , and she had scored better than kids three years older than her.

She reappeared twenty minutes later, her sleeves pushed up to her elbows and her hat pushed back. The second bracket was nearly over and only one other child had managed to come within a second of her time. She was still smiling as she settled herself next to Chuck.

"Get Thunder put away?"

"Yep. Hung up her saddle an' got her cleaned up. It looks like I still have the best score, huh?"

"Yes, you do. You did very well. Did you see your dad?"

"No, there wasn't time."

"Well, I'm sure he's proud a' you. _I'm_ very proud a' you, too."

"Thanks, Granddad."

The second-to-last rider in the bracket looked like she was going to beat June's time, but just as she rounded the last barrel, she knocked it over. Balthazar had seen it happen several times today and knew exactly what that meant: a penalty of an additional five seconds. The rider was knocked from what would have been first place all the way down to eighth. June didn't seem happy, though.

"She almost beat me!"

"She did, almost. But she didn't," Chuck assured her.

"If she hadn't tipped over the barrel—"

"Then I would say she was a more skilled rider than you an' deserved that first place. But she _did_ knock it over, so she's not as skilled a rider as you. Faster, yes, but speed isn't everythin'. You're fast an' nimble an' know how to handle your horse. She's got almost all of that. So now she knows where she needs to improve, an' you know where _you_ need to improve. Trust me, if you win—which looks likely—then I'll say you definitely deserve it. But you can always be better. Never stop tryin' to improve, okay?"

June nodded slowly, the sour expression melting off her face. "Okay, Granddad."

The last rider was slower than June by seven seconds, making June the winner by nearly a full second—boys included.

After the next bracket, which consisted of thirteen- to seventeen-year-olds, the barrels were cleared away and the steer wrestling began. It was an event that, according to Chuck, Mike and Nick frequently participated in, but not today—this time, they would be in the next event, the team roping, which they'd be participating in together. Part of Balthazar was glad he wouldn't have to see Lu _or_ Michael taking part in steer wrestling right now, because it looked extraordinarily dangerous. He kept expecting the riders to get kicked in the head or trampled, and it seemed like they were always a hair away from getting put in the hospital, but it never actually happened. Even after nearly an hour and a half, the most serious injury he saw was what looked like a broken wrist.

And then the team roping began, and Cas pulled out his camera and slunk to the top of the stands with his tripod. It occurred to Balthazar that they probably should have contacted Crowley to get them press passes so Cas could have gotten closer. He filed that mental note away for later.

One team was up before Nick and Mike, and it was over fast—in under ten seconds, they'd managed to rope the steer and get its legs tied up. Balthazar hoped Castiel would be able to get some good photos, considering how fast the first team finished up. "Is that normal?" he asked Anna, who seemed to be the only one who could be shaken from watching.

"Oh, yeah. A professional team can take down a steer in four to eight seconds. Those two did it in seven, so I think Mike an' Nick'll do it in five."

"Why do you think that?"

"Those two, Lisa an' Jordan, I know them. They're friends but they aren't dating or related or anythin'—I mean, they work well together, but they're not in-sync, not like the twins are. Mike an' Nick're always practicin' this in the afternoons, too—I've seen them get down to three an' a half seconds. It's either this or steer wrestlin', usually. All that barrel-racin' an' stuff you see 'em doin' in the mornin's, that's just a warm-up for this. But it's not just the time that matters—each roper is also assigned points for consistency, an' if they don't make it the first time, they get points knocked off. Some competitions will actually disqualify a team that doesn't make their first respective throws."

Balthazar was about to ask about the specifics of the event when the announce called the twins' names and the camera panned over to them, already mounting their horses.

"Oh, wow, that's unusual," he heard Chuck say from his other side.

"What's unusual?"

"Mike's usually the header an' Nick's the heeler," Chuck explained. "They switched this time."

"How can you tell?" Balthazar sure couldn't."

"Look. The steer's right there between them, see?"

"Yes, I see."

"The header is usually on the left since that makes it easier for right-handed throwers. The heeler's on the right. Both the boys are right-handed. Honestly, heelin' is more difficult than headin', an' heelin' is somethin' that Nick just does better than Mike, so why they switched is beyond me."

They didn't have time to discuss it more, because the steer suddenly shot out of its enclosure, and Lu and Mike were right behind it, right on its heels. Before Balthazar could even blink, the rope that Lu had been spinning shot out, neatly catching the steer by its horns, and he wrapped the other end around something Balthazar couldn't quite see from where he sat, Lu jerking his hand back quickly and banking hard to the left. The steer followed, and that was when another rope, thrown by Mike this time, flew forward and caught the steer by its hind legs. It was a neat catch as well, and Mike wrapped the other end around what looked like the horn of the saddle (yes, it was, and that was what Lu had done, too—he just couldn't tell from the angle). Lu suddenly turned Steel to face Mike on Seraph, and the two horses backed up, immobilizing the steer, and just like that, it was over.

"5.79 seconds. I was pretty close," Anna laughed.

He didn't see where the twins disappeared to. A few seconds later, they and their horses were gone and a couple of rodeo clowns were leading the steer out of the arena, and another set of riders was taking their place. Castiel came back a few minutes later and settled himself next to Dean. "Did you get any good shots?" Dean asked, immediately turning his attention from the arena.

"Of course," Cas replied, and he turned his camera back on to begin panning through the pictures.

Almost fifteen more teams competed before Lu and Mike joined them in the stands, Lu scooping June into a tight hug. "I'm so proud a' you! You did so good!"

Balthazar heard June giggle and say something unintelligible, but Lu must have known what she said because he said, "Yeah, well, the competition is pretty steep for our event. We're competing against teams that've been doin' this for almost fifteen years, you know?"

Mike, meanwhile, went to sit down next to Rachel, pulled Inias onto his lap, and gave Rachel a kiss on the cheek. The two of them began talking too quietly for Balthazar to hear, but judging by their expressions, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear anyway.

It surprised absolutely no one (except the twins) when they came in second. Neither of them looked all that upset by not making first, either—they expected it. Actually, they were surprised to score as well as they did, considering their switch—neither of them honestly expected to make it into the top five.

By the time their event was finished, it was midafternoon, and Balthazar realized he hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning. His stomach decreed it was lunch time, and so he got up and slunk out of the stands to locate a food vendor. He wandered around for nearly twenty minutes before finally finding something he was interested in eating (he was entirely uninterested in anything made of chicken or anything barbequed): two huge slices of pizza. He also discovered, to his delight, that the pizza vendor also sold beer, and not just the cheap American domestics. He was able to get a pint of Guinness to go with his pepperoni pizza. They worked surprisingly well together, and by the time he finished off his pizza and his beer, he had a pleasant buzz through his head. He hadn't had any alcohol since leaving Los Angeles, so it hit him a bit faster than he expected, but he was still able to keep his wits about himself.

When he got back to the stands, he wasn't surprised to see that everyone else in the Cohen's group had also somehow procured food from somewhere. Anna was about halfway done with a massive turkey leg when he sat down. "Hey, Taz, you hungry?"

"Not at the moment. I just got some pizza."

"More for me!" Dean crowed, and lunged for another turkey leg in a bucket near Sam's feet. He'd already practically gnawed the bone down to the marrow on his first turkey leg. Sam just rolled his eyes with a martyred expression.

Not too much later, the events changed and the barrels were dragged back out. On the adult level, barrel racing was almost exclusively a women's event, and so the handful of men who competed in their own division went first. "How do you think Jo will do?" Balthazar asked Anna.

"I think she'll be great. Her times at home are always high, but that's because we spread the barrels out farther than they have them here. She's got nearly an extra forty feet to cover at home. I think she'll be pretty solidly under fifty seconds."

"So slower than June?"

"Well, yeah, but she's also heavier than June, and her horse is a little bit heavier as well. If they and their horses were the same age, I would say Jo would be faster, but only because of June's skill level—don't get me wrong, it's great for her age bracket, but she wouldn't stand a chance against adults who've been doing this longer than she's been alive."

Balthazar could see her point.

Since all the competitors rode in alphabetical order, Jo Harvelle was toward the middle of the group. Balthazar nearly missed her, but Anna practically flung herself out of her seat, and that got his attention. Jo shot out across the starting line, Blaze's hooves practically flying over the dirt. She rounded the first barrel in seconds, riding hard toward the second; the timer overhead passed thirty seconds as she shot past the second barrel. She seemed to pick up speed as she charged toward the third and rounded it, then she hung a sharp right and charged back toward the line with little more than 47 seconds on the clock—slower than June, but not by much. It was also the fastest time on the board.

When Jo finally joined them again, she gave her mother a kiss and went to go sit in between Anna and Sam. No one else had matched her time yet, but every time a new competitor took her place, she leaned forward, biting her lip and waiting for the time.

She needn't have worried, though. Once the last rider crossed the line at 52 seconds, Jo threw her hands up in celebration. She'd placed first in her event, too.

"Tonight, we are _definitely_ goin' out to celebrate!" Michael announced, and everyone else seemed to be in agreement. Balthazar wasn't sure if that included him, too, but he secrely hoped it did.


	10. Chapter 10

The entire Cohen clan went out to one of the nicest restaurants Balthazar had ever eaten at—it specialized in steaks and barbeque, the latter of which somehow didn't shock him at all, and the whole restaurant was decorated with a Western theme, but it was still decidedly upscale with the waitstaff running around in black ties. The usual patrons, on the other hand, were more often than not still in Wrangler jeans. It was an odd contrast, but he found he didn't mind. Besides, once his steak arrived he stopped caring about anything at all, least of all the strawberry blond who'd somehow managed to end up at his elbow.

More than one person was there from the rodeo, and a good number of people ended up approaching the table to ask for pictures or even autographs from Chuck or Mike or Nick. They took it all in stride, something Balthazar probably wouldn't have been able to do, but the Cohens, he gathered, were used to it. “Girls hit on the twins all the time,” Rachel confided from across the table as Mike and Nick both greeted a small gaggle of people. “You can't blame them, right?”

Balthazar had rather suspected that, and glanced back at Nick for a moment. He was aiming that thousand-watt smile at a pretty brunette with a rather adorable set of dimples. He fought down a surge of jealousy and looked back at Rachel. “Does it bother you?”

“Not really. I know Michael's married, not buried, but he's a good man. I know he wouldn't cheat on me.”

That was probably a good thing, but Balthazar wondered about Nick. Did he ever hook up with one of those girls? It wasn't any of his business, after all—there was nothing between them, Nick was straight, and Nick was single, so he wouldn't be doing anything wrong—but somehow, he didn't really think Nick was the type.

When the twins finally got a chance to sit back down to their dinners, they had practically gone cold. “That's the price you pay for fame, I guess,” Nick said with an overly-dramatic sigh.

“The rodeo circuit is hardly the Oscars,” Chuck pointed out.

“It is for some people,” Mike countered.

“Daddy, who're the Oscars?” Inias asked, tugging on Mike's sleeve.

“Oscars? Oh, you mean like what Granddad said? About the Oscars?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, the Oscars aren't people, it's the name of an award.”

“Could you get the Oscars?”

Mike laughed. “With my looks, I probably could, but I don't plan on it. You get them if you act really well in movies or write a really good script or direct a movie. They're basically movie awards. And they're more formally called Academy Awards.”

“What Academy?”

Mike opened and closed his mouth. “I'm not really sure.”

“The Academy of Motion Picture Arts an' Sciences. They decide what the best movies are every year an' all the best actors an' directors an' writers an' costumes an' things like that,” Rachel said.

This seemed to stun Inias into an awed silence as he contemplated what it would be like to have that much power. June giggled at her cousin's expression but quickly hid it in her plate of chicken fingers.

The twins ended up greeting a few more people before they finally headed back to the hotel. Chuck, Ellen, and the children were apparently going to sleep, but the rest of them—Balthazar and Castiel included—were going back out. Sam grinned and said there was a karaoke bar that they often went out to in order to celebrate a good winning streak at the rodeo.

While the parents were putting their respective kids to bed, Balthazar went back to his room to change. He wanted out of the baggy Wranglers he'd bought during one of the few excursions to Tulsa and into his regular jeans that showed off his ass better. He also put on a V-neck underneath the flannel shirt he'd worn that day, leaving the other shirt completely unbuttoned now. It was a decided improvement, he thought—he might even flirt with a pretty girl tonight. There was no reason not to have some fun, considering Cas was probably going to be all over Dean tonight. If it got his mind off Nick, so much the better.

“I forgot 'subtle' wasn't really your thing,” Cas muttered once Balthazar reappeared in the lobby.

“What are you implying, exactly?”

“Your clothing might as well be screaming 'Fuck me.'”

_So what if they are?_ “Too bad the only two people here who might have been interested are more interested in each other.”

Castiel opened his mouth—to contradict him, Balthazar hoped—but then closed it again. “So this isn't just to catch the attention of anyone in particular?”

“Of course not. I know when I'm not wanted. But we _are_ going out in public, to a bar, and there's no harm in testing the waters out there, is there?”

“I suppose.”

“Who's ready to take off?” a voice from behind them said—Michael, swinging the keys to the van around his finger. “Catch!” Abruptly, he flung them, and they sailed over everyone's heads, landing in Sam's outstretched hand.

Rachel and Nick were following close behind Mike, and maybe it was wishful thinking on Balthazar's part, but he thought he saw Nick giving him an appreciative once-over. But a moment later, Nick's eyes were out the door as he headed out with the rest of their small mob, and Balthazar was sure he'd imagined it.

* * *

_The Lord is testing me._ The last thing he wanted to be reminded of right now was just how attracted he was to Taz, but of course, the man had somehow managed to find the time to change his clothes, and now he looked gorgeous. His jeans were tighter—he could look at that ass all day—and the layered shirts gave him a kind of careless appeal. The color of the V-neck made his eyes stand out, and the way he was smiling right now made the corners of his eyes crinkle up a bit. He didn't exactly have a type aside from “smoking hot,” but there was no denying that Taz definitely fit in that category. He only let himself look for a second, though. There was no sense in torturing himself. Taz had made his feelings clear enough over the past week—he was only here to do a job, and the moment it was over, he'd be gone. Lu didn't want to waste his time pining after someone who wouldn't look twice at him.

So he followed Mike out of the lobby, pretending he'd barely noticed Taz.

Sam had driven to this particular bar so many times that he didn't need the navigation on his phone anymore. That was fortunate, really, since the mood in the van was so upbeat that they probably would have distracted him from his phone anyway. Dean wasn't a very good copilot—he kept swiveling around in his seat to make some off-color remark or, Lu couldn't help but notice, just look at Cas. He wondered if he was the only one to pick up on that, or if it was just his own heightened gaydar.

Then again, everyone else was so wrapped up in their own worlds that maybe he  _was_ the only one who saw it.

The bar was only a few short miles away from the hotel, which was how they'd found it in the first place. The bouncer didn't even bother to check their IDs anymore—he knew who they were by now. They melted into the crush of people near the stage and joined the party that was already in full swing.

* * *

“A karaoke bar,” Balthazar murmured, shaking his head slightly. For some reason, he thought they'd been joking, but apparently not. True, it was a dusty little honky-tonk type of place, but there was a couple drunkenly singing along to some country ballad he wasn't familiar with onstage and a whole queue of people in front of them, cheering them on. He hadn't really taken them for the type to frequent a karaoke bar, but today had been full of surprises already—he'd actually enjoyed himself at the rodeo.

Sam and Dean quickly posted up at a tall table with Cas joining them soon after. Balthazar noticed that Sam's drink seemed to be just soda, meaning he was probably the designated driver. Lu, Mike, and Rachel all had their own drinks in hand in front of the stage, and Mike had his arms flung over both of their shoulders. It actually made for a nice picture—it was clear Michael very much loved his brother and his wife. Balthazar turned away from the happy groups and made his own way to the bar.

He squeezed in next to a blonde and ordered a shot of tequila and a Jack and Coke. He knocked the shot back and went to head over to Sam's table before he realized that the blonde next to him was Jo, and her fingers, below the bar, were interlaced with Anna's.  _Odd._ He went to where Cas was sitting with the Winchesters and set his drink down. He contemplated bringing Jo and Anna's apparent couplehood to their attention but decided against it—if, for some reason, it would get them in trouble, he didn't want to be the one to rat them out.

The night went by in strange intervals. At one point, Jo and Anna joined them, dragging two more stools over to the table and crowding around; there was barely enough room for four, but six was out of the question. They made it work by scooting incredibly close, although they all had to push their chairs out a little.

Then a guitar riff that seemed strangely familiar started playing, and in between the whooping of the various onlookers, Sam grinned. “Looks like the twins are up.”

“How can you tell?” Balthazar asked. He was on his third Jack and Coke and was more interested than he probably should have been.

“This is 'Rodeo' by Garth Brooks. They always sing it,” Sam explained. “Them an' Rachel. Look.”

At that moment, Michael brought the microphone up to his mouth and sang,  _“His eyes are cold an' restless, his wounds have almost healed.”_ Balthazar was both annoyed and impressed. It wasn't fair that someone with Mike's looks would have a voice to match. It would be doubly unfair if his brother sounded just as good or better.

Nick sang the next line, gesturing to Rachel as he did so.  _“An' she'd give half a' Texas just to change the way he feels.”_ Balthazar wanted to punch him. He also had a gorgeous singing voice.

Rachel raised her microphone next.  _“She knows his love's in Tulsa, she knows he's gonna go. Well, it ain't no woman, flesh an' blood...”_

All three of them sang together now.  _“It's that damned ol' rodeo! An' it's bulls an' blood, it's the dust an' mud, it's the roar of a Sunday crowd. It's the white in his knuckles, the gold in the buckle he'll win in the next go-round. It's boots an' chaps, it's cowboy hats, it's spurs an' latigo. It's the ropes an' the reins an' the joy an' the pain, an' they call the thing a rodeo.”_

“They seriously do this every time?” Balthazar asked.

“I guess they think it's clever or somethin',” Jo said, taking a swig of her beer. “They're all huge dorks, though, an' you can't convince them to change their song, but at least they can sing at all.”

He had to admit that she had a point.

Michael was singing again.  _“She does her best to hold him when his love comes to call...”_

Back to Nick.  _“But his need for it controls him an' her back's against the wall.”_

Rachel's voice contrasted nicely with theirs.  _“An' it's, 'So long, girl, I'll see you,' when it's time for him to go.”_

Mike laced his fingers through hers, looking right at her. _“Y'know the woman wants her cowboy...”_

Rachel sang back, _“Like he wants his rodeo!”_

As the three of them started singing the chorus again, Balthazar couldn't help but comment, “Nick looked awkward up there, didn't he? Maybe he wouldn't look so out of place if he had a wife up there, too.”

Sam nearly choked on his drink. “Um, I don't think Nick's gonna get married, maybe ever.”

“Why not?”

“He's not the type,” Sam said shortly, as though he'd realized he shouldn't have said anything at all.

“ _It'll drive a cowboy crazy, it'll drive a man insane...”_

“ _An' he'll sell off everything he owns just to pay to play again.”_

“ _An' a broken home an' some broken bones is all he'll have to show...”_

“ _For all the years that he spent chasin' this dream they call rodeo! An' it's bulls an' blood, it's dust an' mud, it's the roar of a Sunday crowd...”_

Balthazar got up and went back to the bar as the song finished up. His drink was empty and he wanted to wander away casually anyway because the trio onstage would most likely be joining their table soon and he didn't really want to try to fake a conversation with Lu. And what exactly had Sam meant by him not being the type to get married? Not even a week ago, the man had been telling him that if his ex hadn't left out of nowhere, they'd be married now. Had something changed in the past nine years?

Above the hubbub at the bar, he heard a female voice say, “Hey, cowboy. Can I buy you a drink?”

The voice was too far away for her to be talking to him, but he peeked around another patron anyway to see what was going on. Not ten feet away, a young woman in Daisy Dukes and a cowboy hat was smiling up at Mike, who already had two drinks in his hand.

“Thanks for the offer, ma'am, but I've already got my drinks.”

“Well, how about a dance then?”

_Persistent, isn't she?_ Balthazar couldn't tell if she was a rodeo follower who knew who Mike was, or if she was simply incredibly attracted to him. It really could have been either one.

“I don't want you to get the wrong idea about me, ma'am. You see, I'm married, an' I love my wife with all my heart. That's her over there, the blonde standin' up. So I'm gonna have to turn down your offer, but I'm sure you'll have no problem findin' someone else to dance with you. My brother's single,” he added as an afterthought. “He's that light-haired one over there, next to my wife.”

Another stab of jealousy twisted in Balthazar's gut. That wasn't fair—but he bit his tongue and kept watching.

The woman's smile slipped a notch but she nodded anyway. “Thanks, but I like guys with dark hair.” She paused for a moment, as if deliberating, and then added, “You know, your wife's a lucky woman. You're faithful an' honest an' polite. She really hit the jackpot with you, didn't she?”

“She would probably agree with you, ma'am, but I feel like I'm the lucky one, bein' with her. Anyway, you have a nice night.”

“You, too.” The woman gave a halfhearted wave and wandered away, and Balthazar was left staring after Mike as he went back to the table. He didn't want to admit it, even to himself, but he rather liked the Cohens, especially Chuck. He'd obviously instilled in his sons a true value of family. Mike had barely even looked at the woman, didn't even have to think about turning her down.

So why wasn't Lu the type to get married?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAYBE BECAUSE LU IS BASICALLY A MASSIVE HOMO AND SAM KNOWS THIS BECAUSE THEY FRICKLE-FRACKED (also they totes did in this story's canon YAY SAMIFER). Also in which I finally get some femslashin' in.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Once Upon a Dream](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3247895) by [L_Greene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_Greene/pseuds/L_Greene)




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